


Skin Deep

by Bethann, Minniemoggie



Series: Legendary Friendship [26]
Category: TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works & Related Fandoms, The Lord of the Rings (Movies), The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types, The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien, aglarond - Fandom
Genre: Corporal Punishment, Domestic Discipline, Family, Family Bonding, Family Feels, Father Figures, Father-Son Relationship, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Friendship, Hurt/Comfort, Illness, Male Friendship, Medical Procedures, Platonic Relationships, Spanking, Tattoos
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-09
Updated: 2017-04-09
Packaged: 2018-10-17 00:21:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 27,043
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10582506
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bethann/pseuds/Bethann, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Minniemoggie/pseuds/Minniemoggie
Summary: This is a direct follow up to The Aqueduct.  Legolas has been recovering from the Sea Longing in Aglarond and his visit continues.  Gimli decides it is high time to get the customary offspring tattoo that will concretely acknowledge Legolas as his adopted son, but when Legolas wants to respond in kind trouble ensues.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Please read our series notes in order to better understand our Alternate Universe. This story will make more sense if you have read the others in this series, especially the ones dealing with Gimli's family and the preceding story The Aqueduct. I will give a character list for those who have not read any of the earlier stories in this series to make it a bit easier.  
> Lady Vonild (Mam): Gimli's mother  
> Dorbryn: Gimli's sister  
> Greirr: Gimli's nephew  
> Thorur: Gimli's brother in law (Greirr's step father)  
> Magen: Thorur's father
> 
> And of course other dwarven OCs who will be introduced in this tale. 
> 
> We love hearing your (polite) thoughts and comments. Happy reading!

Gimli’s pov:  
I cautiously peel back the bandage from my recent wound and then carefully wipe away dots of blood so I can see it better. I am very careful to follow the instructions to blot rather than to rub, for rubbing can damage the integrity of the work that has been done and I have been through too many uncomfortable sessions with Master Magen to take a chance on messing anything up now. I very gently wash the area of skin that covers about a hands span just over my heart, carefully pat it dry and then apply a healing salve that should keep any infection from setting in. Only then do I stand back and really take a good look in the glass.

When I do so, I cannot help the smile of satisfaction that comes to my face. It has been a difficult two weeks, but it has been well worth it. If I say so myself, the design is beautiful and Master Magan’s ink work is perfect, in spite of the fact that he objected to doing it at first.

It has been over twenty years since the last time I added any markings and a tattooist in Erebor did those three, just after the Ring War. I had one in remembrance of those who died in that war, another to show my fealty to the newly enthroned King Under the Mountain, Thorin Stonehelm, and one more to mark my new settlement here in The Glittering Caves. Every marking has a special significance, and this newest work of art is no different. I have known for some time that I wanted to have this very special inking done, but it was a matter of choosing the right time and coming up with the perfect design.

There has been something unique and special about this current visit from my elfling that made me realize that now is the right time. Legolas arrived here three weeks ago seeking my help to recover from an especially difficult episode with the Sea Longing, and something about that simple, gesture touched me in a way that is difficult to describe. His complete childlike faith in my ability to mend his troubles made me realize that it is past time for me to recognize the lad in a deeper and more concrete way, in a way that all dwarven fathers recognize their children.

It is a custom among dwarves that when a child is born, the father designs or chooses a design to be marked into his skin, traditionally on the left side of the chest just over the heart to represent his new offspring. Usually this process begins just after birth and is completed within the infant’s first month of life. The ink will be shown to the family at the naming ceremony when the child reaches three months of age.

Even though it may seem odd to some of them, all of the residents of Aglarond and anyone who knows me well, knows that I consider Legolas my heart son, and that I love him as if I had sired him myself, in spite of the impossibility of that and in spite of the obvious differences between us. Of course our relationship did not begin in the way it normally would for a father and son. I did not know him when he was a child of course, but instead suddenly found myself acting as a substitute father to an adolescent elf while we were in the middle of a dangerous quest. So the question of offspring ink did not enter my thoughts at the time. And even later I did not know if the time was right, for there is no precedent set regarding dwarves adopting elven youngsters.

But as I said before, this particular visit has been a special one for many reasons, not the least of which is Mam guessing my desire to sail with my lad when he is no longer able to endure staying in Middle Earth. It made me realize that if I am willing to go to that length, there is no reason that I should not acknowledge my lad as any other father would. It is not as if it is a secret to anyone at this point anyway.

The difficult bit has been trying to keep my temper with Master Magen himself since he was dead set against the idea and was shocked at my design, for it combines dwarven and elven motifs. Never in his long career had he inked someone with an elven marking and he was not keen to begin at this late date. In fact he had outright refused at first, when I came to him with the design I had created.

“I realize you are Lord here, and you know I would do anything for you, but this is asking too much, Lord Gimli,” He had complained, “ It goes against all of our customs that have been in place for centuries. Folks will be shocked when they hear of it.”

“Ah well, Master Magen, times change and we must change with them,” I pointed out. “I have done many unconventional things in my life, so there is no surprise in that. Ye know that when ye decided to leave the Lonely Mountain and follow me here.”

“No offense meant to you, my Lord, but I moved here because my son wanted to marry your sister,” he said rather coolly. “not that I regret it mind you. It was a good match, and it has been a good life here. I have even come to accept your family’s odd affinity for taking up with elves, but marking yourself with elven symbols is going too far. Why I recall when my own Da inked Lord Gloin with your offspring markings and a fine dwarven design it was too! The poor old fellow would turn over in his grave if he knew what you were proposing.”

As an elder Master Magen evidently felt freer than most to talk to me in such a manner, and normally I am able handle such criticism with a fair amount of grace, but the suggestion that I might be betraying my own beloved father proved to be too much. I raised myself up to my full height and lowered my voice ominously.

“I know about Lord Gloin’s offspring markings,” I told him, “ I have seen them many times and I have a matching one on my own back that was done when I came of age, as is proper for a son. But if you think he would disapprove of my acknowledging Legolas as a heart son, then you would be wrong. Da loved my lad just as Mam and I do and he understood that changes must take place for improvements to be made. And he did not stubbornly hold on to old grudges.”

“The markings should be done at birth,” Master Magen tried, taking another tact. “It is too late to have it done now!”

But this argument held no water with me either, for I happen to know that Magen’s own son Thorûr wears markings to recognize his stepson, and my nephew, Greirr, and that he got inked when Greirr was already ten years old.

“But that is different,” Magen argued. “Greirr is not…”

“Not what, Master Magen?” I challenged him, for we had been over this issue on many other occasions, beginning when Dorbryn got married and he did not wish for my elfling to attend the wedding. The question of race does not enter the picture when it comes to kinship in my mind and everyone here knows that! But then again, Master Magen does have rights over his art, so I decided then to let him off the hook.

“Ah well never mind,” I said, “I will not order ye to do something that ye find so distasteful. I am certain I can do it myself with a little effort.”

“Do it yourself? Why such a thing is unheard of! Have you even held a tattoo needle before?”

“Nay, but with a mirror and a little help from Thorûr, I am sure I can mange it. You are training him to take over your practice here now that his older brother moved back to Erebor are ye not?”

“I am attempting to teach him, it is true,” Magen said, his eyes growing wide. “But he has only just begun training in the last two months and he does not have the skills his brother had . He has only ever tattooed a bit of pig leather, and I am sure the pig was pleased he was dead rather than having to run about with that mess on his skin.”

“Well it will be good practice for him then,” I said, and turned as if to go off to find my brother in law. “I thank you for your time.”

I hadn’t even made it to the door of his studio when he called me back.

“Lord Gimli, wait!”

I felt a hand on my shoulder and turned back to face him.

“I will do it,” he said. “You are lord here. I cannot in good conscience let you get inked by an amateur such as my second son. If you must desecrate yourself with elven graffiti, at least it should be done by a real artist so that you look decent. I have my name to think about as well and if it gets out that I allowed our own Lord to receive a substandard tattoo it could ruin me. Besides your mother would have my head if I refused and my son botched the job.”

Magen may be difficult at times, but he is not stupid. He knows when he is in the presence of a stronger mind and facing Lady Vonild after refusing her son must not have appealed.

After that, it was just a matter of spending nearly two weeks of late evening hours having the work done. It is a tedious process and slightly uncomfortable, but not really painful like the ones I had done on the softer skin on the insides of my arms. Still the detailed design meant a lot of time spent with Master Magen, who never complained again, but who managed to look askance and disapproving most of the time. Still today when the last stage was finally completed, even he could not deny that the result was stunning. Annoying he may be, but Master Magen is truly a first rate artist.

Now the only bit left is waiting for the last of the tattoo to scab over and peel away, which should take another few days. After that I can show it to my lad and explain the significance of it. Until then, I will have to continue to keep him in the dark, something that has become increasingly difficult lately.

Since the debacle with the aqueduct was revealed and dealt with, Legolas seemed to recover fairly quickly from the episode of sea longing that brought him here in the first place. There has been an occasional difficult night that makes me reluctant to let him out of my sight yet, but even that seems to be better now and between Mam and me we have managed to coax him into gaining back a good portion of the weight he had dropped before finally coming to his senses and coming here to recover.

It concerns me greatly that this has been the most difficult bout of sea longing we have dealt with, for it proves to me that things are beginning to take more of a toll than before. Only a few short years ago such episodes could be overcome in a day or so and then forgotten for months at a time. Now it seems like the spells are triggered easier, last longer and have gotten closer together as well.

Having said that, anyone who did not know him intimately would be unable to tell that anything was ever wrong. Other than still being a bit too thin, he is back to his old self, though he has not yet suggested that he is ready to go back to Ithilien. That in itself tells me he realizes also that there has been a change in his health, even if he does not readily admit it. It is worrisome, and yet I am in no hurry for him to leave and not just for the fact that I always miss him when we are apart. I need him to stay at least another week or two if I am to surprise him, and I am determined to do so, even though it has started to become more difficult.

I fear that he may have become a little suspicious of my unexplained absences every evening over the last couple of weeks, especially because my excuses for being gone have gotten weaker as I have run out of plausible explanations. Greirr has done what he can to keep the lad distracted and busy, and even now has him out and about somewhere. Mam has done her best to help me too, but she believes he may be starting to feel a little neglected. She has advised that I should be careful about causing hurt feelings, but it is only a little longer before everything can be explained. I am sure he will forgive my lack of attention once everything has been revealed. And at least now my evenings will be free. I only need to keep him from seeing the healing scar for a few more days and all will be explained.

As if thinking this has conjured him up, my bedchamber door suddenly opens and my elfling bursts into the room. I swear and turn my back, hurrying to replace my shirt to cover the tattoo before he can see it.

“Mahal, lad, ye make all the noise of a herd of snails when ye come in,” I exclaim, “I am considering putting a bell around your neck!”

“I am sorry, Gimli. I should have knocked. I..”

I sigh inwardly, for it is easy enough to read the hurt in his face at my outburst, so I hurry to smooth things over.

“Nay lamb, there is no reason to be sorry. Ye just startled me is all.”

“Oh. All right then.”

He comes forward to embrace me, but I reach up and grab his arm before he can do so for I do not wish him to press against the freshly inked tattoo for to do so while it is so new could smudge the edges and make the colors appear faded.

“Come Laddie,,” I say, reaching up to pat his cheek and then pulling him over to my right side, “Let us go see what Mam is up to.”

“Is something wrong, Elvellon?”

It is easy to see he is puzzled by my odd behavior, but again I attempt to reassure him

“Nay, not a thing,” I promise. “Everything is just fine.”


	2. Legolas' pov

  
I say farewell to Greirr at the end of the hallway. We have had a pleasant enough evening, and I am contented enough but I am increasingly aware that our old relationship has been damaged by what happened down on the canal and in its aftermath.

Greirr has unfortunately been made aware of the fact that I am less mature than he is and although he is trying not to treat me differently it is inevitable that he has begun to do so, just as Estel did all those years ago. Greirr has become more wary and less inclined to indulge in what Gimli would no doubt call ‘mischief’. It is disheartening, but only to be expected I suppose. Tonight he thought it unwise for me to have a third tankard of ale, and my protests that elves have a very high tolerance to alcohol went unheeded, so I am on my way back to Gimli’s quarters earlier than expected.

As I pass through the door I see that Gimli’s leather tabard is hanging on its customary hook. I am surprised to see it there, for over the last few nights he has been out until quite late. It is quite strange really, for normally Gimli is the most gregarious of characters but he has become almost secretive, unwilling to share with me what he is doing or where he goes. What surprises me is that no one else seems to be curious over his absences and I am beginning to suspect that everyone other than me knows where he goes and why.

It is very frustrating, and I am wondering why I am being kept in ignorance. I hope that it does not indicate a loss of trust between my dwarven family and myself. Of course it should not come as a surprise if it is, given the debacle of the broken rafts but I thought I had been forgiven for that. Perhaps I am forgiven but it is not forgotten and I will have to work at regaining trust.

I spent several days helping to rebuild the rafts although I was only allowed to do light work since Gimli and Mam were worried about my health at least that is what I was told at the time. Thinking about it now mayhap it was the first indication that I am no longer considered responsible enough to be given work that is important. Perhaps it is time to ask a question or two of my guardian.

Intent on doing that I enter the main room only to find that the only one present is Mam who is working on a piece of sewing. She looks up and smiles as I enter. Anxious as I am to speak to Gimli I wish her a good evening but move towards Gimli’s bed chamber ignoring Mam’s call to wait.

I push open the door surprising Gimli who snaps, “Mahal, lad, ye make all the noise of a herd of snails when ye come in. I am considering putting a bell around your neck!”

“I am sorry, Gimli. I should have knocked…” I begin shocked by my welcome.

“Nay lamb, there is no reason to be sorry. Ye just startled me is all,” my dwarf says, but while I would like to believe him I have my doubts for Gimli looks quite put out, as if I am intruding. I hurry forward seeking reassurance but to my dismay he brushes my attempt at an embrace aside although he pats my cheek and suggests we go see what Mam is up to.

“All right then,” I say allowing him to lead me out of his chamber, and back into the main room, but while I follow him meekly enough my heart is sinking for it is plain that something is very wrong between us. But when I ask what it is he says not a thing is amiss and that everything is just fine, though clearly it is not it is not even close to being fine.

Yet, when we sit down to eat the dinner Mam has prepared there is no hint of what it is that has caused the breach between us. I can only think that it is to do with what happened with the rafts. What else is there?

Whatever it is Gimli seems determined not to give any indication. He smiles and laughs, draws Mam into our conversation and gives me no clue as to what I have done to forfeit his regard. He is trying to hide his true feelings I am certain, but how am I to find out the truth?

Instead, Gimli pretends that all is well. He teases and jokes with me and I, desperate to please, do my best to respond. When he suggests I join him to check on the locks tomorrow I immediately say that I am happy to do so, and when he warns that I am not to do anything ‘daft’ while we are together, I promise I will do nothing that will cause him any unease.

Mam apparently feeling the tension between us does her best to ease the situation and even jokes that I am not to try diving off the top lock into the ones below.

It is a feat that I might well have wished to try out but one look at Gimli’s expression tells me that it would be unwise to say so. I do however risk a grin and Gimli growls at me not to try anything of the sort.

It is so comforting to hear his old scolding tone that I actually laugh and promise not to do anything foolish.

“Hmm, that will be a first!” my dwarf grumbles but I do not care for it is so good to see him smile at me.

“Promise me that ye will not even think about it,” he demands, “Mam should not have even thought of putting such thoughts into that flighty head of yours.”

He looks at his mother who merely chuckles in response.

Things suddenly seem to be back to normal and I risk teasing in return by batting my eye lashes at him and promising not to try it … then add sotto voice,

“At least not while you are watching.”

Gimli growls and flicks my ear with his finger and we all laugh. But then my eye is caught by a growing haze of red on Gimli’s shirt.

Blood!

“Gimli you are bleeding!”

I leap up intending to go to his side but he puts out a hand to prevent me touching him, “Tis nothing Lamb” he tells me,

“But I can see the blood,” I cry, “Let me at least look at your wounds.”

“There is no need. It is nothing more than a graze,”

Gimli seems intent on dismissing my concerns but I am having nothing to do with it. I begin to rise, intent on going with him to deal with whatever wounds he has sustained but he waves a hand at me.

Still I object, “But Gimli …”

My dwarf looks down at the spreading stain on his shirt front and can no longer deny the injury, but he still refuses my aid by saying “If there is anything that does need to be done Mam will see to it.”

That simple statement is all that I need to hear to tell me that something is very much amiss between Gimli and me for we have ever cared for each other’s wounds. I watch helplessly as he stands and moves off into his chamber. Mam seems to sense my distress for she pats my shoulder as she follows her son whispering that all will be well and I should not worry but what else can I do?

I stare down at my dinner plate and push it to one side. I hear the murmur of soft voices drifting out of Gimli’s rooms. Good manners decree I should not attempt to listen but I cannot help myself but even listening intently I only catch part of the conversation. Mam seems to be arguing that Gimli should tell me what is happening for I hear her say,

“the lad is worried. Ye should speak with him”

Gimli appears not to agree, although he does add that I will know all soon enough. Now I am even more worried and confused. What will I know and why is it being kept a secret from me? Is Gimli unwell? Certainly the bleeding on his chest would seem to show this, although I have to admit to myself that the amount of blood did not indicate a large wound and Gimli was not wearing bandages when I saw him earlier. But severe injuries do not always come from wounds. I have seen small cuts turn poisonous; Orc blades often contain such things.

Now I almost laugh, for where will Gimli have come across an Orc blade in the last few weeks? He has been here working on the lock and canal system. I am becoming far too fanciful for my own good. The door opens and I scuttle back to the table as Mam enters.

“Do not look so worried child,” she chides, “Gimli is well; he will be out in a moment after he has changed his shirt. Come help me clear these dishes.”

I do as I am bid, stacking plates and then pumping water so that she can begin washing the pots but I cannot resist asking as I do so for an explanation as to what is wrong.

Vonild turns to me patting my cheek. “Do not fret so lambkin. It was just a graze nothing serious.”

“You are certain?”

“I would not tell you so otherwise.”

I am relieved about that but my other concerns remain and as Mam looks at me closely she obviously sees further questions and concerns in my face. Sighing she takes the cloth from my hands and bids me come and sit beside her by the hearth. I settle on a stool by her side and she takes both of my hands in hers.

“Now you listen to me lambkin. There is naught amiss with Gimli, nor- for I can see in your eyes ye think it- is there anything for you to concern yourself with over your relationship with my son.”

“But …”

“Hush child. Gimli loves ye as his own. His absences these last nights are nothing to do with ye, or maybe everything to do with ye,” she changes her mind but smiles at me in such a manner that my heart is eased a little more, even though I still do not understand what is going on.

“He is not still angry with me over the locks?”

“Nay, ye and Greirr paid the price for your naughtiness and we do not hold grudges in this family.”

I hesitate and then decide this is my best opportunity to ask the questions that have been plaguing me for some time.

“Perhaps he is tired of having me here underfoot.”

Mam laughs, “That he will never be. I reckon if he could have ye by his side all the time, that would suit my Gimli best of all. He likes to have ye where he can see ye and watch over ye as he should.”

“Mayhap it is that he is tired of me altogether.”

“Why ever would ye think such a thing?” Mam is clearly shocked.

I shrug, but she is having none of that. Mam places a finger under my chin and raises my head, “Come now tell me. What is that is really worrying ye Lambkin? And do not try and prevaricate for ye know ye canna do it, youngling.”

Youngling that word again! That is really at the heart of my misgivings over my relationship with my guardian: my eternal youth. And this latest business with Greirr has highlighted it once again. Dorbryn’s son will soon become a respected adult. I will still be a child. How long will Gimli be prepared to go on rescuing me from my youthful follies?

I struggle to put my scattered fears into words, but finally manage it only for Mam to smile and take my hand again.

“Ye can no more help your heritage than I can deny mine lad, and Gimli would not wish ye to. He sees ye as the son of his heart, perhaps more than even ye know.” Mam replies, her eyes softening, “Aye and perhaps it is time he proved it to ye.”

I swing round to see Gimli standing in the doorway. He has clearly been there for some time listening to our conversation. I flush and drop my gaze too embarrassed to see what reaction my words might engender.

“Eh, Lamb, how could ye even begin to think I was tiring of ye?”

“I have caused you so much trouble, my sea longing, the debacle of the rafts, and then you were away so much I … I am sorry.”

Gimli opens his arms and I go to him, careful not to put any pressure on his chest where the blood appeared earlier.

“Sorry? Ye foolish elfling you. It is as Mam says. Ye are the son of my heart and there is nothing and no one who can change that. Now, I can see that I have been at fault in keeping ye in the dark over where I have been going and ye have let it play on your mind and let doubt seep in again. I was going to wait a while longer. I wished to do this properly with all the family about us, but your wellbeing comes first, so sit ye down and listen.”

Mam draws me back down onto the stool and takes my hand in hers squeezing it softly in reassurance.

Gimli takes up his place beside the fire and looking directly into my face.

“Ye know the tradition of tattooing in dwarven families.”

I nod, for I have been privileged to see and have described to me the significance of each of the wondrous designs inked into Gimli’s skin. He has even explained to me how each of the marks are made and how long it takes. The procedure is lengthy. Only so much of a design can be done at one sitting as the process can be uncomfortable and there is a need to guard against infection. Such markings are unknown in elven society but I know they are of great importance to my dwarven guardian.

“Aye, well it is our custom when a child is born, for the father to mark his skin with a special design to honor his newborn. It is usually done on the left side of the chest just over the heart.”

My eyes go to Gimli’s chest, the blood I saw earlier was on the left and above his heart but I cannot understand why that should be.

“Sometimes of course it is not possible to begin this process just after the birth, and it is not unknown for the tattoo to be added later in life. Thorûr, for instance, had a design done to acknowledge Greirr. It is a symbol if ye like that shows to the dwarven world that a surrogate father has made a lifelong commitment to his adopted child.”

My eyes widen as the implication behind Gimli’s words begins to sink in. I look up at him in wonderment.

“You?”

“I had hoped to wait until the design was completed and healed before I revealed it to ye, but perhaps it is better to do it now.”

Gimli opens his shirt and I stare at the tattoo that is inked there but it is nothing like I expected for what I see emblazoned just above his heart, is the most beautiful thing I have ever seen. It is a unique fusion of dwarven and elven elements. The hilt of the dagger is in the shape of a leaf but its blade then goes down to the axe head, which is marked in runes and dwarfish motifs. Intertwined vines further join the two. My hand goes out to touch it but Mam tugs me back warning me that it can still be spoiled until the last of the inks dries and the scabs fall away.

  
“Gimli,” I breathe, unable to say much more than, “it is beautiful but why?”

“Why?” My dwarf shakes his head at me. “Ye daft elf, are ye not the son of my heart? Have ye not been adopted by my kin? This inking just reaffirms all that, aye and more. This is as clear a signal I can give that you are my beloved child.”

  
Tears leap to my eyes and I have to work very hard not to spring into Gimli’s arms but of course I must not. But he seems to know how I am feeling for he smiles at me and then shakes his head as tears pour down my face mingling with my own smile.


	3. Gimli's POV

Xxxx

I smile as it becomes clear by the tears that pour down my lad’s face that he has been touched by my gesture, though I suspect part of it may be that he is relieved that there is nothing to worry over, even though Mam and I both have been telling him so time and again that everything was fine. Still I should have heeded Mam’s advice and spoken up earlier to ease his mind, for I know his nature and his tendency to let worries grow out of proportion. I can also see he is holding himself in check to prevent himself leaping into my arms, so I shake my head and laugh and then reach toward him, pulling him close. He is careful to lay his head on my right shoulder, staying carefully away from the left and when I look up at Mam I can see she is dabbing at her eyes as well.

“Did I not say there was nothing wrong?” She gently chides. “And here I am a teary mess and the dishes still need washing. Nay I will finish them on my own so the two of ye can talk,” she holds up a hand when Legolas starts to rise to follow her. “Ye needn’t worry, I’ll be happy to let ye do them on your own tomorrow.”

We all chuckle at this and then I am left alone with my elfling, who is now seated at my feet. I am happy to see that my surprise has pleased him, though for some reason he feels the need to apologize again.

“I am sorry I ruined your plans,” he says. “I was afraid something was wrong between us.”

I let a hand run over his hair, shaking my head once again.

“Listen to me, lamb. Ye have done nothing at all wrong. Ye had reason to be concerned, so it was right for ye to speak of that. I should have noticed ye were worried and eased your mind sooner, so there is no reason whatsoever that ye should be apologizing to me. Ye need to learn not to apologize and take blame on yourself when there is no reason for it. Is that plain?”

“Yes, Gimli. It is plain. I’m s…” he begins, but then changes it when I tug a lock of his hair. “ow! Sure you are right!”

  
“Ye better believe it, laddie! I am always right,” I say, ignoring my traitorous mother’s snort from the kitchen. “And something else for ye to remember: if I have an issue with ye, I will never leave ye in any doubt about it and once it has been settled and dealt with, we will not revisit it again. There are no grudges between us. Understand?”

He nods

“Good lad!,” I say, and then lift his chin so that he must look into my face and see how serious I am. Speaking softly I add, “Furthermore, we are all as we were designed by our maker, meaning we all grow and mature at different rates and that is perfectly agreeable to me. I wouldn’a change a thing about ye even if I could so ye needn’t worry that. I will never tire of ye, child, no matter how much bother ye manage to get into or how prone ye are to youthful foolishness.”

“Really?” he asks, as two fresh tears leak down his face, causing my own vision to blur with unshed tears.

“Nay, I’ve changed my mind,” I tease, handing him Mam’s dishrag to wipe his eyes. “I’d toughen ye up a bit if I could, ye sappy thing.”

He let’s out a sudden burst of laughter, as I run a sleeve over my own eyes.

“You should talk,” he makes fun, “some terrifying dwarven warrior you are! Besides you started this with your sentimental family tattoos.”

Here he becomes serious again adding, “It is a beautiful work of art, and a beautiful gesture as well and one of the most touching things anyone has ever done for me. Thank you Elvellon.”

“Ye are most welcome lamb, though there is no need for thanks. It is what needed to be done to properly acknowledge our special relationship. It is a dwarven tradition after all.”

“Then it is a lovely tradition and I appreciate being included in it. Did you create the design yourself?”

“That I did,” I tell him. “Here now lamb, let me get the original sketch and I’ll tell ye the significance of each part.”

I go into my office where I originally drafted the design and bring it out to show him. I point out each element and the thoughts behind them beginning by saying that I chose elven and dwarven weapons combined as the main theme because of the way we began our time together and how we were able to combine our fighting skills to make a nearly unbeatable team with the axe head being on bottom symbolizing my constant support and stability. The leaf on the dagger hilt is a play on his name and the vine coming from it and wrapping around the axe means his acceptance of me as a parent in an honorary way. The small design near the top of the dagger blade is a dwarven eternity knot, meaning our relationship will never end, even at death.

The basic shape of the whole thing is meant to resemble an anchor-one that will be set in the far west eventually. It is a promise to sail with the lad if the time for him to do so comes before I go to my long rest, but I keep that thought to myself for now. There will be time enough to discuss that later if it becomes too apparent that he is no longer able to endure in Middle Earth, but now is not that time.

He seems fascinated by the many facets that have been included in the design, and the whole idea of symbolic tattooing in general.

“Did Lord Gloin have a mark done when you were born? And what about Dorbryn?”

“Aye he did, for both of us,” I answer, “but only I have the corresponding mark. Females are not normally inked for fear of the ink causing problems with the development of an unborn child should she choose to bear children.”

“Besides that, pregnancy and child birth mark a woman’s body in a way no ink master can,” Mam says having returned from her task in the kitchen.

Legolas smiles at her jest and passes her a freshly filled pipe, but continues with the questions.

“What is a corresponding mark?” he asks.

“It just means that a son would have a matching mark done when he comes of age only done somewhere on the arms or back rather than over the heart as a promise to care for his parents in their old age. Ye have seen mine before. The family ones that are on my lower back.”

“It is just like the one Lord Gloin had when you were born?”

“It is,” I say. “That is the custom.”

He looks so thoughtful then, that a thought comes to mind that hadn’t occurred to me until just now, so I add, “In our case, that practice will have to be suspended since it is not the custom of your people. Besides that, we do not know how safe such a thing would be for ye or if it would even work with your softer skin and rapid healing. Besides, lad, ye are not yet of age.”

A brief look of disappointment crosses his features so I reach out to pat his cheek.

“Never mind, Lamb. Ye don’t need to be marked to prove your commitment to me. Ye have already shown it to me in a thousand other ways, and that is enough for me.”

Mam smiles in approval of my words, and reaches out to pat my hand.

“Well said lad. Now how about we raise a tankard in celebration of this occasion before we head off to bed? If the two of ye intend to work at the locks tomorrow, ye’ll be wanting to get an early start.”

She starts to rise to get it, but Legolas leaps up first and places a staying hand on her shoulder. Again Mam shares a look with me, and nods in approval, for this action shows that my elfling knows the customs of his dwarven family. It is proper that a youngster should pour ale for his elders, serving himself last, especially on formal occasions such as this has turned out to be even though it was not planned that way. Any well brought up dwarfling would know this, and for my lad to recall this ritual and choose to participate in it shows his great respect for our family and our culture.

He returns finally, with three tankards and a pitcher of ale, setting them on a small table beside Mam’s chair. Mam is served first, as is her right as the matriarch of our clan, and me second to give tribute to my role as his honorary father. After that he pours for himself and we all raise our tankards.

“To family,” is Mam’s simple toast, and then we sit back to enjoy the fine black ale, and then Legolas seems to remember something.

“Don’t tell Greirr about this,” he snickers, almost to himself.

“Eh?”

“This is my third tankard of ale today,” he explains, “Greirr didn’t think that was a good idea earlier.”

“Why ever not?” I ask, perplexed, but he only shrugs and I decide to let it go for now. Instead we enjoy the ale and the companionship and Mam again suggests that we call it an early night if we intend to go to the locks in the morning, reminding me that I had meant to speak of my plans for tomorrow.

“I have a task tomorrow that I could use your help with, Lamb,” I tell him.

“That is if it is agreeable to ye to spend the day working with me.”

“Indeed it is, Elvellon,” he says, “I’m happy to help in any way I can.”

“Then let us get some rest,” I say. “As Mam says we’ll want to be getting an early start.”

He nods, and then picks up the parchment with my original sketch on it.

“May I keep it?” he asks shyly.

“Of course ye may keep it,” I tell him, leaning to kiss him on top of the head. “I have no need for it anymore. “Sleep well, lamb.”

The next morning we watch the sun rise from the top of the locks having been joined by Greirr who was keen to join us in our endeavors for the day. Once the sun has risen, I point down to the canal and to a small path that runs along beside it.

“That, lads, is a towpath,” I inform them. “It is where a horse, mule or pony, or even a person will walk to tow a loaded raft down the canal. With the goods being loaded on a raft in the water rather than a wagon, I estimate that an animal will be able to pull up to fifty times more weight than it would over land.”

“Meaning fewer trips need to be made,” Greirr states. “It really is a clever design.”

“It is indeed,” Legolas agrees, “but the animals will have to be trained to pull it, for it will be different than pulling a wagon that they are used to.”

“Exactly right lamb,” I say, “which is where ye come in. Ye’ll know better how to talk to those beasties than I would so I’d like ye to take the lead in showing us how to best go about it. Greirr and I will be your assistants.”

We spend the day working with a couple of horses that have been brought here for that purpose, beginning by getting the animals used to the new harness and the long tow rope. My elfling has no trouble at all convincing them to cooperate and accomplishes in half a day what would have likely taken me a week to manage. By the end of the day we are able to all three ride on the raft as one of the horses pulls us on the canal with only a few simple commands from my lad.

Greirr is completely amazed at this feat, and I laugh and clap my lad on the back as we make our way back home.

“I knew I kept ye around for a reason!” I tell him. “That was brilliant, lad.”

He flushes at the compliment but it is easy to see that he is pleased. Over the next several days Greirr and Legolas continue their work with the animals while I have to attend to other less interesting aspects of running a successful demesne. Still it is good to see the two or them getting on well and evidently over any rifts that might have come between them earlier on in this visit. That is why I am surprised when Greirr comes to me right in the middle of a meeting with some trade advisors interrupting our talks over how to begin negotiations with the folks of Edoras.

It is clear to see he very concerned over something, so I call a brief halt to the meeting and step into the corridor.

“Whatever is amiss lad?” I ask, worry beginning to set in, for I can see Greirr is quite upset.

“It is about Legolas,” he begins, clearly in turmoil, “I should have said something sooner, but…”

“Said something about what Greirr?” I say, starting to panic now.

“You must come, Uncle,” he urges. “hurry!” 


	4. Legolas' pov

I hurry to stand and fetch the ale for Mam and Gimli, not only because I know it is traditional for the youngest family member to do so but mainly so that I can have time to compose myself. I lean for a moment or two against the kitchen table and attempt to bring my thoughts into some sort of order.

Gimli has revealed the reason for his absences over the last few evenings and it was all in an attempt to show the depth of his commitment to me and my future. How can I be so deserving of such devotion so and much love?

When Gimli accepted Adar’s request to take me into his care, when we were both away from Eryn Lasgalen I knew already that he cared for me, and over the years he has shown the level of that care on many occasions, even having me adopted into his own family so that I might take a full part in dwarven life, but this, this is something beyond what I have any right to expect. Gimli has taken the ultimate step and done something that only a dwarven father can do to show their love and commitment for their child and I am the child who has been so gifted by this incredible offering.

Dwarven inking is not just a tradition. It is something much more than that and as an outsider I never even considered I might be honored in such a fashion. I have known for a long time how fortunate I was to have the support and care of my dwarf but this, this is something quite beyond what I had any right to expect.

This shows a level of love and acceptance for me that I find overwhelming. To hear Gimli explain each of the elements of the design was humbling. He has put great thought into it and how it will be perceived by others of his kin. It is his statement of intent and shows the depth of his obligation to the pledge he made to both Adar and me.

I am quite dazed and not sure how to respond but a growl from the main room reminds me that I am supposed to be fetching ale and I hurry to comply

Mam’s simple toast, “To family” brings more tears to my eyes and sums up my feelings perfectly. I brush the tears away and do my best to lighten the atmosphere with a jest, over the amount of ale I am drinking, but when Gimli asks for further explanation I choose not to bring up the business of Greirr being overprotective. I do not wish to spoil our evening by complaining.

It is Mam who, perhaps seeing that I am still struggling to come to terms with what Gimli has given me, suggests that if we are to work on the locks tomorrow as Gimli has suggested then we should have an early night. Thinking about all the discomfort Gimli has gone through I am eager to see that he gets a good night’s sleep so agree readily with the idea for it will also allow me time to compose myself.

  
I pick up the original design that Gimli used for his inking and ask if I may keep it, and having been given permission I go to my own bedchamber to prepare for bed.

Once I am alone I continue to stare down at the drawing, taking in the intricacies of the design and each of the wonderful elements that symbolize so much. My fingers trace the leaf at the top. The beauty and sophistication of the whole thing causing my breath to catch in my throat.

I would dearly love to reciprocate to show Gimli that his commitment to me is returned in full measure but how? We elves have nothing like this. I know of no elven tradition which comes even close to such a statement nothing even that marks family in such a way.

It is then that the obvious answer comes to me. I bare my right arm and stare at the pale smooth skin, then back at the drawing. Of course I know it is usual for an inking for Gimli’s family is for it to be on the back, but I want it to be where I can see it and be reminded of Gimli’s great love for the son of his heart and I do not think that he will mind if I alter the tradition just a little so that it suits me better.

Of course such a statement would be difficult to hide and there is also my own Adar to consider, and this gives me a little pause. What will Ada have to say should I have a tattoo inked onto my arm? But by the time he finds out it will be too late and I trust that my explanation of the necessity of it will be sufficient to dampen his disapproval if disapproval there be. Of course, perhaps Gimli will not approve either for I am not of age, but then it is possible that I will not come to adulthood until Gimli has gone to his long rest and the point of my having the inking would be wasted.

My mind having been made up I realize that I will have to find out not just how but who does the inking here in Aglarond for I know enough about it to realize that it is a specialized craft and not done by just anyone. But if I ask Gimli too many questions he might become suspicious of my motives and if he were to divine what I intent he would undoubtedly veto my plans.

I must have been sitting thinking about how I can avoid this for quite some time for there is a rap on my door and Mam enters wanting to know why I am not yet in bed and asleep.

I give a rather shaky laugh, telling her that I am still thinking about the events of the evening and she comes to sit beside me on the bed.

“Aye it is quite a thing my lad has done, but then he loves ye very much lambkin and this is his way of showing it. I am proud of him for making this choice, aye, and I am proud of my grandson too.” She pulls down my head so she can kiss my brow, “Now it is time ye are in bed.”

Instead of complying I ask a question.

“Is inking very painful?”

“Nay, the inker uses a slight anesthetic on the skin first. It is uncomfortable rather than painful and then from what I understand it itches until the scab dry and come off. It is probably very tender now but dwarven skin is tough and it will soon heal. The inking is done over several sessions though to help prevent any infection setting in and to ensure that the design has taken properly.”

“Could it be done in one session?”

“I suppose it could if necessary. Why do ye wish to know?” she narrows her eyes a little at my questioning.

“Oh I am just curious. I suppose the person who does the work is highly skilled.”

“That they are. It is a craft that is as highly revered amongst our folk and it takes many years to become proficient in it. Master Magen is training Thorûr to take his place eventually and I suspect he will prove to be very good at it.”

“Magen is the tattooist?”

That is bad news for me for Thorûr’s Adar is no friend of mine and is unlikely to even countenance my asking to be marked. He has little time for outworlders, as he calls those of us who live above ground, and even less time for me because I have been adopted by Gimli and can now attend dwarven ceremonies which he thinks is sacrilegious.

“Aye, although there are others who practice the art, but they are not as skilled or as careful as Magen, so sensible dwarves would rather wait and get his services than risk pain and infection. Now enough talking. If ye are to help Gimli in the morning ye must get your rest. Goodnight sweetling, may your dream path be a happy one.”

I say my goodnights in return and do slip in between the sheets, but it is a while before I sleep, for I am determined that I will find a way to honor Gimli by having a tattoo done no matter how difficult it turns out to be.

And difficult it is proving to be …

Of course I did not expect to be able to find out how and where to get a tattoo straight away. My days are full for I have been working with Gimli to train the horses and mules to pull the rafts along the canal. That was not so difficult a task, since all elves have an affinity with good beasts, and the animals were quick to learn what was required of them. My biggest challenge has been getting the dwarves who will be in charge of the rafts to understand this new way of transporting goods and their responsibilities towards the animals they are making use of but I finally I think we are making headway and today the first loaded rafts made their way towards Edoras. Gimli is in council with Erkenbrand over the schedule for rafts and also over a new idea of his which features flat-bottomed barges, which would carry even more cargo and protect it more effectively from the elements. Gimli has taken his drawings and plans for these new barges and I suspect we will not see him again until very late tonight so I am going to take the opportunity to go and speak with Greirr.

I have need to take someone into my confidence, because there is no other way of finding someone in Aglarond other than Master Magen who is capable of working on a tattoo on my arm. I know there is no point in approaching Magen. He resents me and always has, ever since I was invited to attend Dorbryn and Thorûr’s wedding.

Magen would undoubtedly run straight to Gimli to tell tales of me and delight in that fact should I request him to ink me. The same is true of Thorûr. Not that he would welcome my disgrace, but rather his care for me would send him to Gimli to warn him of my choices. Either way I would be denied the opportunity to honor Gimli as I wish so both scenarios are best avoided.

I arrange to meet Greirr at our favorite spot on the walls of the Keep and I take the precaution of asking for his oath to keep quiet over what I am about to tell him before I explain what it is I am planning. While he gives me a thoughtful look for this requirement he gives his word to keep any revelations on my part private.

I know when a dwarf gives such an undertaking that whatever I say will be kept confidential and not to be repeated to anyone else in this case in particular Gimli.

Having promised to keep my secrets Greirr can do no more than make plain to me how much he dislikes my plans and this he does with some gusto. Words such as foolish and downright stupid seem to fall from his lips with little effort. It is plain he disapproves and would like to put a stop to it if he could. Having given his word he is trapped by his oath, though this does not prevent him from making his views very plain.

“Legolas, you cannot be seriously contemplating such a thing,” he scolds, “minors are not allowed to be marked in any way never mind a full tattoo such as you describe.”  
“If I wait until I come of age by elven standards there will be no point in doing it at all” I snap, “and anyway I am not a minor. I am over eight hundred years old.”

Greirr is unimpressed by this logic, “I do not think Uncle Gimli will think that to be a reasoned argument, Las. He knows better than most the difference between age and maturity especially where you are concerned.”

He looks at me in a way that makes me feel like the veriest elfling, and then he adds sententiously. “Nor do I believe he will ever forgive me if I aid you in this endeavor. What is more Grandfather Magen certainly will not agree to the inking.”

Greirr seems to think this argument is unanswerable but I already have an answer to that particular claim.

“I know that, but there are others who might. Mam mentioned them last night. All I need you to do is point out the dwarves to me I will do the rest, that way you will not be blamed at all, so there is no need to look so worried.”

“I am not worried Las. I am terrified because I am bound to be implicated. Everyone will know who has aided you and then my rear end will be tattooed in its own right. Don’t do it Legolas please. Not just to save my backside but because it could be dangerous.”

“Nonsense,” I reply sharply, rather disappointed by Greirr’s lack of enthusiasm for my plans. “All will be well and what is more, you might recall that when you decided to go rafting I did not try and talk you out of it.”

Greirr seems not to approve of my reminding him of this but fair is fair after all and it does stop him making further objections.

I ignore his snort and instead ask him who he might know who might be able to do the service I require for the sooner it is done the better and the less likely it is that I will be found out before it is too late to put a stop to it.

With Greirr’s reluctant cooperation assured I spend the next day happily helping out with whatever Gimli needs, but I can hardly wait for the evening and an opportunity to meet up with the dwarven miners who Greirr tells me are the ones who can and do occasionally tattoo themselves and who might be persuaded with the right remuneration to consider inking me.

When Greirr points them out to me in the main hall I begin to have doubts over my plans. They are laughing and drinking and do not seem aware of the disapproving looks their raucous behavior is causing. Once again Greirr does his best to dissuade me from approaching them but I have come too far not to follow through so I step up to their table and offer them a polite bow.

“Good evening,” Their conversation stops and they look up at me and then at each other,

“We have no love for your kind elf” one begins, but the other puts a hand on the first one’s arm whispering urgently, “mind your mouth Dorin. This is Lord Gimli’s companion from the quest, and his honored guest. Without his help Aglarond itself might have been lost to us aye and maybe the whole of Middle Earth as well. Ye are welcome Prince Legolas. Sit ye down and share a flagon of ale with us.”

“Thank you” I settle into an empty seat and take the tankard that is offered to me before signaling for another jug of ale to be brought to the table. I wait until we have all drained the first tankard, before I bring up the reason I am there by admiring a tattoo that one of the miners is sporting on the back of his hands. I ask about the meanings behind them and as the beer goes down so the miners become more loquacious and they are keen to boast about their handiwork. One shows me a tattoo of Smaug. The dragon’s tail is wrapped about his wrist while the body and head go up his arm. I say all that I think is proper about the design, dropping in the fact that I saw Smaug attack Lake town and helped in rescuing the folk there.”

“Your designs are very different from the ones I have observed on Gimli. Were they done here or Erebor?”

“This one was done under the mountain,” the dwarf called Floin says revealing a rather unpleasant tattoo of an Orc head.

“Did Master Magen work on them?”

I know the answer to that of course but it provides me an opening for my real reason for being here.

“Old Magen” Dorin snorts, “not likely. He only ever works on traditional designs. No we did these ourselves.”

Once again I admire their handiwork and then casually ask if they are open to the idea of tattooing someone else.

“Aye if the coinage is right.” Floin answers “Mind we have to be careful for there are many elders who do not approve of our more modern designs. Consider it sacrilege if ye would believe it, old fools!”

I take the paper design that contains Gimli’s pattern from my tunic and lay it on the table, “could you, for instance, do something such as this?”

Floin and Dorin scrutinize it closely “Aye it would be a challenge but I think it could be done” Dorin lifts a bushy eyebrow, “are ye thinking of having this done?”

“I am” I nod, “I wish to honor Lord Gimli, but Master Magen would not entertain the notion.”

I hope that by adding this the miners will be more sympathetic towards my request and it seems to work for they exchange looks then nod.

“Well we are not so full of starch as Magen. I reckon we can do it, if ye are sure.”

“I am and I am happy to pay whatever price you deem appropriate. I would only ask that it is done as swiftly as possible and that you mention it to no one until it is complete. It is to be a surprise.” I hurry to add when they begin to look a little dubious at my stipulations.

“Then we had better settle on a price.” Floin announces, “for a proper contract must be made between us. Ye are happy for it to be a verbal one?”

Once again I nod and negotiations begin, for dwarves like nothing more than to haggle over contract arrangements. Another flagon of ale disappears before we have come to an agreement over payment. Once we have all shaken hands I ask when it can be done.

Dorin drains his mug and slams it down on the table.

“No time like the present to begin it,” he pronounces and lurches to his feet, “come along, lad, let us get this surprise of yours underway.”

“Now?”

“Aye, why not? We can ink out an outline tonight and work on the main design tomorrow. Ye do want it done?”

“Of course,” I answer although I am beginning to have second thoughts, but stubbornness is not just a dwarven characteristic and I will not allow myself to back out now and look foolish. “You are quite right. The sooner it is begun the sooner it will be done.”

I follow them out into the hallway waving to Greirr who all the time I have been talking has been hovering at the edge of the room He hurries to my side taking my arm and begging me to think again.

“It is not too late.”

I pull my arm away, “You will not dissuade me Greirr, and really there is no need for this concern. I am only going to look at some more of their work.” This is a lie but I can see he is genuinely alarmed, and I do not want him running to Gimli with the tale. “I will not be long.”

“Then I will come with you.”  
“No, that is not necessary. You ought to stay out of this. It is not your concern and I do not wish you to be blamed for what is my decision. I will see you later.”

I hurry off after the miners and do not look back to see what Greirr is going to do.

Dorin’s quarters are quite a long way back in the cave system. Their rooms when they usher me in, are cluttered and none too clean. The smell is almost over powering but I force myself to step inside. Another flagon of ale appears then Floin clears the table by the simple expedient of sweeping an arm across it knocking everything to the floor. Then he pulls out a leather box from which he draws needles and pots of inks.

“Sit ye down, lad, and bare that arm of yours.”

He waves me to a seat and I sink down into it, removing my tunic and pushing up my shirt sleeve.

“I have never seen skin so smooth,” he brushes a calloused finger over my forearm. “Ye are certain this will not do ye any harm?”

I am not at all certain now it comes to it, but I swallow and say, “elves heal very swiftly and have a high pain threshold.”

“That is good. Here have a swallow of this,” he offers me a flask which smells of very strong liquor, “it will take the edge off.”

He pulls my arm towards him. I do my best to relax my muscles as Floin waves a needle just above my skin and he discusses with his brother where they should start. Floin and Dorin continue to converse, each discussing the elements of the design. I am beginning to regret my hasty decision to agree to start the inking tonight, for it is plain my would be tattooists are drunk and the disorder and the dirt all around me is causing me to wonder about how likely it is that the needle that Floin is holding is clean.

A hammering on the outer door makes all of us jump Floin drops the needle and Dorin knocks over one of the ink bottles over my arm I am cleaning it off when a very familiar and very angry voice demands entry. I roll down my sleeve and push my arm into my tunic just as Floin opens the door.

“Lord Gimli welcome,” he stutters, as the irate Lord of Aglarond, storms past him into the cramped room. He looks from me to the others and then down at the disordered table.

“What in Mahal’s name?” he thunders as he sees the sketch of his design amongst the debris and picks it up. His eyes flash as he looks at the dwarves and I know I have to speak up before he takes his ire out on them so I rush into speech.

“This is entirely my doing Gimli. Master Floin and Master Dorin are not to blame for any of this. I asked them to work a tattoo for me. They were not to know you would disapprove.”

“Disapprove? Ye thought I might disapprove?” Gimli’s voice is now deceptively quiet which often presages an explosion, so I hurry on.

“It was my wish to honor you by having a tattoo like the one you had. It was to be a surprise.”

“Is what Prince Legolas says true?” he growls at the others.

“It is Lord Gimli. We would not have done anything otherwise.”

“Did ye know he is underage?”

Floin blanches at this news but I step in once again.

“I gave them the impression that I was old enough to have the tattoo done.” I see this admission has done nothing to appease Gimli but I feel that it is necessary to say it.

“Get yourself home now.”

“I … Gimli … saes.”

“I will be there shortly. Do as ye are bid."

He turns me easily and pushes me towards the doorway and seeing the expression in his eyes I decide that it will be wiser to leave now before his hold on his temper slips.

I find Greirr waiting for me and I give him a scathing look, for it is plain that he was the one who told Gimli what was happening. He merely shrugs and follows me back up through the caves. He does not even attempt to defend himself when I demand to know why he broke his word to me.

I push into the main room and go straight on past Mam who is looking concerned, closing the door to my room with rather more force than is necessary.

I rub at my arm which is itching, and when I raise my shirt sleeve. I see that where the ink covered my arm that blisters are beginning to form, I wring out a cloth in water and dab at it, easing it a little. I wonder just what Gimli will have to say when he returns but I am determined on one thing. I will not apologize for wanting to honor my beloved guardian no matter the consequences.


	5. Gimli's POV

  
Stepping in only long enough to put an end to my meeting, I hurry to follow after my nephew, who quickly attempts to fill me in on what has been going on. His story speeds my steps even more, for I know the two dwarves he is speaking of: brothers who came here as youngsters with their parents when we first settled here in Aglarond twenty years ago. Decent miners like Master Jóarr, their da, but a pair of drunks in their free time.

“I promised not to tell, but I thought I still had time to talk him out of it,” Greirr defends himself, “But when I followed Legolas to Dorin’s quarters, I listened through the door and heard them offer him spirits to ‘knock the edge off’ and I realized they meant to go on with it right away. I…I didn’t have time to think what to do, but they had been drinking an awful lot and even from the corridor I could tell the place reeked of filth and alcohol…”

“Ye did right,” I tell him, though it is clear he is not so sure.

“I’ve never broken a promise before in my entire life,” he says mournfully, though he does not slow his steps, “he is going to despise me.”

“Probably not for long,” I reassure him,” and in this case there was naught else ye could do. Though next time ye’ll be more careful about giving your word. Ye are at an age where ye should be getting beyond giving childish vows of secrecy when ye have no idea what ye are promising to keep secret.”

Even though it is a very mild rebuke, for I can hardly blame him for my elf’s mad ideas, Greirr looks thoroughly ashamed and upset. But there is no time to discuss things any further. We need to make haste.

It is a long way back into the cave system before we make it to Dorin and Floin’s shared chambers. I order Greirr to stay behind before I pound on the outer door and demand entry. I barely wait for them to answer my insistent knock before I burst inside. As Greirr said, the cramped place smells of spoiled food and unwashed bodies, and as I pass by Floin I notice he reeks of ale and stronger spirits.

I also notice that Legolas’ tunic is unfastened, a sure sign that it was off moments ago and Dorin carries a less than pristine tattoo needle in his hand. This does not paint a very pleasant picture, but I hope against hope that the procedure has not been started yet.

I demand to know what is going on even as I take in the extent of the filth around me. The floor is littered with dirty dishes, some with remains of old meals in them, while the table contains some uncovered ink bottles and a few more questionable needles, besides the parchment with my tattoo design sketched on it. I shudder to think that my lad might have already begun getting marked in such unsanitary conditions, which is about as far as East is from West when compared to Master Magen’’s immaculate studio.

To his credit, Legolas is quick to answer my demand to know what is going on and to point out that he deceived Floin and Dorin into believing he was not only of age to consent to receiving their services, but also that he had my approval to do so. That I would consent to anyone regardless of his age getting marked under such conditions is completely outrageous, but both of them look contrite enough, so evidently they believed the tale when it was told to them.

Doing my best to keep a firm hold on my temper, I turn Legolas toward the door and order him to go home immediately, promising to return there myself very soon. He hardly bothers to argue before giving in to my demands, leaving me glaring at the sons of Jóarr.

“Lord Gimli,” Dorin begins, “we did not realize the elf was underage else we never would have consented to marking him.”

“It is hard to tell with that kind,” Floin adds in defense of himself and his brother. “Elves all look alike, whatever their age, so how were we to know?”

“Very well,” I growl, “ I absolve ye of that at least. I suppose it is possible ye might not have heard that the lad is in my charge. And I canna prevent ye marking each other if ye’ve a mind to and if ye want to live in squalor that is none of my concern. However, I better never catch ye charging anyone else for your filthy services again, else ye will regret it. This place is a disgrace and a danger to anyone foolish enough to ask for an inking. Now I’ll thank ye to return whatever fee the lad paid ye, for whatever ye charged him was too much!”

They hurry to return the coins they had collected, and I stalk off back toward home, very concerned over what I will find when I do so. What I do find, is Mam looking worried as Greirr quietly explains what is going on. She is just about to start for the bedchamber where Legolas has no doubt retreated to when I speak up to stop her.

“I will handle this, Mam,” I tell her, “send for Thorûr if ye please.”

I do not wait to see what she will say, but rather just enter without warning into Legolas’ chamber. He hurriedly rolls down his sleeve, but I catch him by the other arm and force him to sit on the edge of the bed and sit down next to him.

“They never even started it, Elvellon,” he explains, “so there is no need to…” his words die off as I simply scowl at him and shove the sleeve up to see for myself.

To my relief it appears that he is telling the truth. There is no sign of the beginnings of a design, not even the preliminary drawing, but there is a large blue stain covering his arm.

“What is this?” I demand to know as I continue to inspect the area.

“Dorin was startled and spilled the ink,” he explains and then reiterates, “but nothing else was done.”

As I look more closely I see that everywhere the ink has touched his skin is forming tiny blisters, again causing me shudder in fear for what might have happened and making me angry all over again.

“Look at this!” I order, shaking the ink stained arm. “Either the ink was foul or ye are allergic to it. Can ye imagine what this would have done to ye if it had been injected under your skin, ye foolish elfling?”

“But I only wanted to…” he begins, but I find I am too furious to listen to excuses.

“I am not interested in what ye wanted,” I roar, feeling the slightest bit of regret when he cringes at my reaction. Still I am too angry to take much heed of my own emotions. The crazy child might have died for want of a little care and right in my own home! And so I proceed to remind him.

“That place was worse than a pigsty, and smelled twice as bad. Did Dorin even wash his filthy hands before picking up that needle he was planning to use on ye? And that ink! It looked a hundred years old and could have been full of mold or fungi, or even mouse droppings for all we know! Get enough of that poison into your system and ye might have lost an arm or worse! Not to mention the fact that those two are always drunk by this time of night. I could smell the ale and whiskey on their breath from the corridor. In fact ye look half lit yourself, my lad, and ye should know better than to make a decision with such permanent consequences in such a state! How could ye do something so foolishly dangerous?”

“Elves have a very high tolerance of alcohol, Elvellon, and I never felt in any danger.”

Unfortunately his words, meant to appease have the opposite effect for I have heard such things before. Having a high tolerance for something does not mean he is entirely unaffected by such things as too much alcohol or not enough sustenance or rest. And not feeling in danger is not that same as not being in danger. He never feels in danger. It seems to me we have had this same conversation a million times over the years and right now I don’t feel like having it again. Instead I tighten my grip on his arm and yank him face down over my lap.

“Ye never felt in danger did ye?” I say, bringing a heavy hand down hard on the seat of his leggings. “Well if nothing else ye were always in danger of this outcome and ye’ll be in danger of so much worse if ye ever do anything so foolish again!”

I have repeated this process no more than half a dozen times when I hear Thorûr’s voice from the next room. I release my elfling and haul him to his feet, giving him just enough time to drag a sleeve across his eyes before pulling him out into the main room. Thorûr has already been briefed on what has happened it seems for he immediately reaches for the ink stained arm.

“Here now, Lad, let me have a look,” he says, guiding my elfling to a seat near an oil lamp where he can see it in better light. He spends a few minutes examining the area before he makes his diagnosis.

“I have seen this before,” he tells us. “On many occasions folks who had gone to less reputable sources for their inking have had to come to my father for help on what to do with the botch jobs. Sometimes they wanted a removal, which is a painful process and usually leaves a scar, but often all Da could do was send them to a healer.”

Here he looks up at Legolas and speaks not unkindly.

“It is pretty obvious that the ink was contaminated and we should thank Mahal that you didn’t get it injected under your skin, for you can see what it is doing just from making contact with the top dermal layer. Your skin is so soft, Legolas, that it would have taken five times more ink to get the same effect as Gimli’s marking, so you would have been pumped full of toxins before the design was completed. At the very least it would have been quite painful and it could have made you deathly ill. I am not sure what changed your mind, but it was a good choice not to go through with it.”

Here Legolas briefly offers Greirr a cutting look, though he is not so foolish as to offer a comment. Thorûr seems to notice this as well, for he looks a question at his son, but Greirr only stares firmly down at his hands, which he wrings in his lap.

I change the topic by asking if I should call a healer to look over the blistered skin of my lad’s arm, but Thorûr thinks that is unnecessary.

“It is only superficial since the procedure was ended before the skin was pierced. A good soak should get rid of any residual ink and then everything should return to normal.”

I nod in agreement with this advice and then send Legolas off to do what needs doing.

“Ye heard him, laddie. Now off with ye,” I order. “Ye go and draw a bath and soak that arm. After that ye may wait for me in your chambers. I will be with you shortly.”

Only now do I notice that my lad looks decidedly unsettled and unhappy, rather than disgruntled or angry at having had his plans foiled. As always I feel my hard stance begin to soften a little, something that is increased when Greirr speaks up after Legolas has left the main room to do as he has been bidden.

“Uncle, you mustn’t be too hard on him,” he says, “he only wished to please you and he did mean well after all.”

I look at the others and see both Mam and Thorûr appear to agree.

“That is so,” Mam says, “it may have been poorly thought out and foolish, but it was a very sweet gesture in spite of everything.”

Suddenly all the anger and frustration from moments ago falls away, for I know they are right. As ever, my elfling had pure motives, if not such a pure method in achieving his goal. His wish was not to drive me batty with his antics, but to honor me in a very special way, even going so far as to put himself through considerable discomfort and possible unpleasant repercussions to do so. I even knew the thought had crossed his mind the day I showed him and explained about sons receiving corresponding marks to their fathers. I thought I had made it clear the reason why that was not possible in our case, but perhaps I should have explained it better. Fortunately it is not too late to do so now since Greirr came to his senses quicker than is his usual habit.

Thinking of Greirr reminds me that he is still watching me and looking worried over what I intend to do or say. Mam is sitting next to Greirr stroking his hair as if to comfort him. She also looks concerned, but a bit disapproving as well as if she will have something to say if I am foolish enough to disagree with her. But of course, I know she is right.

“None of ye need to look so worried,” I tell them. “I have no intention of putting him on the rack. I know very well that his heart was in the right place. It always is.”

Mam and Greirr exchange looks, and she winks at him, letting me know that she has already reassured him earlier than I would deal fairly with his friend. No doubt Greirr is suffering, especially after what has taken place between him and Legolas, for giving a vow is a very serious matter to our folk, and breaking one is not to be taken lightly, which is why youngsters are not allowed to make formal or public vows before they come of age. The individual and the family would be disgraced before the whole community if the vow could not be fulfilled and the very young have a tendency to say and do things without thinking them through or considering the consequences.

This thought soothes my unsettled emotions even more. This was a close call, but not a terrible tragedy. Other than a few hurt feelings, no real harm was done. Certainly nothing that cannot be set straight with a few judicious words and a little explanation. In fact the whole sorry ordeal can really be put down to another episode in a long series of ‘growing pains’, and how I handle it can go a long way in mending the situation. I prepare to go speak to my lad, but I take the time to reassure Greirr that he made the right choice in deciding to clue me in on what was happening.

“Legolas may not appreciate it now, lad, but ye prevented him making a serious mistake that could have had dire consequences,” I tell him. “He will understand that in time.”

Greirr looks as if he doubts that, but he offers me a wan smile anyway, making me reach out to squeeze his shoulder encouragingly.

“It may seem so now but it’s not the end of the world, nephew,” I say, “That I promise ye. A few bumps in the road are expected in any family and a little time will mend things between the two of ye, likely sooner than ye think. I’ll go talk with him now.”

I find Legolas pacing in his chambers like a caged animal making me realize he needs to get out for a while. There isn’t even a window here for him to look through. He halts when he sees me, eyeing me a little warily. And no wonder. I was hardly an example of perfect patience earlier today.

“Come lamb,” I say, and then add when he hesitates. “I only want to get a look at your arm.”

He pushes up his sleeve to show me, and I am pleased to see that most of the blisters have already subsided. Only a very small line of them remain and no doubt those will fade in a short while.

“I did not mean to upset you,” he begins, rather stormily. “I meant it to show my depth of devotion to you and to show you how much I wish to honor your traditions. I couldn’t wait until I come of age by elven standards, else…”

He cuts that off, clearly not wanting to discuss the reasons why he felt the need to act now rather than at the proper time. Of course I understand why that is, so I merely pull him close and embrace him for a long moment.

“I understand that, child, and I truly and honestly appreciate the sentiment,” I assure him. “I know your heart is pure and ye only wished to please me. I am touched by the gesture, truly I am, but we still need to talk about why ye just canna reciprocate in this case. But let us go up to the keep first. What say you?”

He nods and follows me through the corridors of Aglarond and all the way up to the keep, where we find a place to settle on the Deeping wall. The night is sultry, and the stars are out full force. Crickets and an occasional bull frog call out, and I can see my lad visibly relax at the sounds of the night creatures and the sight of the clear night sky. Coming outside was a good choice.

We sit in silence for a time as I gather my thoughts about how best to express to him why he must not follow his desire to take part in the dwarven tradition of inking even if he were to do so in a safe environment, for he must believe my main objection was to the circumstances he attempted it the first time. This is proven when he breaks the silence.

“I understand why you were angry with me, Gimli, and I admit I did not fully understand the implications of what I was doing. I went to them because I did not believe Master Magen would agree to marking me, but perhaps if you were to talk to him…”

I hold up a hand to put an end to that line of thought.

“Nay, lad, Master Magen would never agree to it. I am lord here and I had to talk fancy to get him to do mine considering it was not a traditional design. With you being an elf and a minor, he’d never consent. And even if he did, ye could not gain my permission for it. Don’t look like that lamb. I mean no insult to ye and I appreciate your willingness to go through with it. I know you would do so if you could. But we have the feelings of your own folk to consider. What would your Adar think?”

“He might agree to it if I were to explain why I wished it,” He suggests, though I can see he is uncertain of that.

“Perhaps,” I agree, though I also seriously doubt that would be the case, “and if ye gain his permission ye may do so. But ye will have to find a human tattooist that he approves of to do it, for any dwarf who knows you are a minor would refuse to do it and certainly it will not be done in Aglarond.” I look him in the eye to make my seriousness on this issue known. “I would not allow anyone here to mark ye, even if your ada by some off chance gave his consent. Inking is not a custom of your people and no one knows how it would effect you. I will not be responsible for your being disfigured because you were used as an experiment!”

“But Gimli!”

“It’s no good Lad, I mean what I say,” I tell him, very firmly. “Furthermore it is not a dwarven custom for minors to be allowed to make such a statement. The inking you propose to get is really a public vow that is a promise to see to care of elderly parents. I do not wish ye to make such a promise at your age.”

“But I want to do so,” he says vehemently, almost as if he’s been deeply insulted. “Do you not think I would want to see you were cared for in your old age? Is my vow not as good as someone else’s just because I am not of age yet?”

I reach out to pat his knee.

“Of course it is, lamb,” I soothe, “It doesn’t mean I don’t trust your word. Ye can make any vow ye wish in your own heart and that is just as good and true as any marking would be. But ye will not be making it as a public statement.”

The real reason for my objection is that we do not yet know where he will be or what sort of state he will be in when I do reach old age. He has been already fighting the sea longing for over twenty years, and it is clearly getting worse. Another hundred or more years will make a big difference in his condition, so much so that he may not be able to endure that long And even if I am able to sail with him, as is my aim, that does not mean I will be allowed to set foot in the undying lands. I will not have him feeling guilty over having made a vow that he was unable to carry out, and a mark on the arm would be a lifelong reminder of it. Of course I do not say that, but only repeat what he already knows.

“It is not the custom for minors.”

I can see he is not convinced so I simply remind him that when we agreed all those years ago that I would act as his guardian part of that meant that he promised to heed me even if we could not come to an accord after discussing an issue. He lets out a long suffering sigh, but finally admits that I have this right and promises to let the idea go.

“Good lad,” I say, pressing a kiss to his forehead and then standing to go back inside. “And while ye are letting things go, ye might consider forgiving Greirr. He should never have made a promise that would put ye in danger and he realizes that now.”

“I will consider it,” is all he is willing to agree to.

“Ye’d do well to do so for his interference has prevented a lot of pain and possibly saved your arm. In this case it would have been a serious disservice to ye for him not to break his word. Ye should be grateful for that at least.”

He looks thoughtful at this, but still does not comment other than to nod, whether in agreement to my suggestion or to acknowledge that he has heard me I do not know. Whatever the case, I know that I should end this discussion on a positive note, so just before we re enter the caves I stop him one more time.

“I know ye are disappointed lamb, but ye shouldn’t be. I can see your commitment to me just as clearly as if it were marked permanently into your skin. I dinna need more than that. And I swear I’ll do what I can to make up for this.”

And suddenly I know just how I can do so!


	6. Legolas' pov

I hesitate just as we are about to go back into the caves. I am not yet quite ready to leave the night and the stars but I do not wish to further anger Gimli by saying so. However he seems to sense my need for he pats my shoulder and says, “stay out awhile longer if ye need Lamb, but not too long mind.”

I promise to come in soon and after offering me another kiss on the brow he goes on inside. I walk over to the Deeping Wall and lean back against it gazing up into the night sky and allowing the light of the stars to help heal my hurts. Oh I am not talking of physical pain. The few swats that Gimli administered do not even sting now, and while my arm is still itching it is not unbearable. No it is not physical rather it is emotional wounds that smart and hurt.

I wanted so much to prove my own depth of commitment to my dwarf and it seemed the perfect way to do it once I had seen what Gimli had done for me. But I have to accept that it is not going to be, and a small part of me is grateful for that fact. I am not afraid of pain. I have been wounded many times in the service of my Adar. It is not that. No if anything was needed to show me that elves are not suited to inking it is the way my skin reacted to the spilt ink. Most of the blisters have subsided now, but it showed clearly that tattooing would prove unpleasant and likely it would have indeed caused infection as Thorûr said it might. But having said all of that I am now left without any way to show my loyalty and to do honor to my guardian and there are other things as well.

My conscience is pricking me over my having forced Greirr into giving his word to me to remain silent before telling him what I intended to do. I know dwarves take oath giving very seriously and it must have been a difficult decision for Greirr to go against his word and speak to Gimli. I should not have asked it of him and I know it. What is more by doing all I have done is to prove to him and to me that I am still a foolish youngling and he has indeed passed me by in terms of maturity for he was willing to forgo his oath to protect me from my own stupidity and then instead of acknowledging it I felt the need to glower and scowl at him as if what happened was his fault instead of mine.

I am hardly coming out of this debacle very well am I? I sigh and wonder how many more yeni must go by before I finally grow up. In the twenty or so years since the Ring War I have founded and led my own colony in Ithilien and yet I still find myself being brought to book over choices and decisions in my personal life that only the shortest period of reflection would have shown me how very wrong and stupid they were.

But Gimli’s words to me that he knows my commitment to him do offer me a small crumb of comfort. I am fortunate indeed to have his wisdom and love available to me aye and his care also. I sink down next to the wall and rest my elbows on my knees while I ponder on how I can show my appreciation now that my plans to be inked have all gone awry.

I sit for some time and I am so distracted that I do not realize that someone is standing watching me until Mam speaks.

“It is time ye came in Lambkin.”

I scramble to my feet and hasten to her side.

“I am sorry I lost track of time.”

“It is easily done and no doubt ye had plenty to think about,” she pats my cheek. “Do not looks so forlorn Legolas love. These things often happen for the best in the end and I would not have liked to have seen that beautiful skin of yours spoiled by inking and I suspect your Ada would not have been very happy about it either.”

I give a grimace, but cannot deny that her words are factual, “No I do not think he would have been pleased.”

Mam gives that lovely rich laugh of hers.

That is quite an understatement Lambkin. Knowing your Adar as I now do, he would likely have been incandescent and rightly so.”

“I only wished to show honor to Gimli”

“And that is a worthy ambition and I am sure there are ways ye may do so that Gimli and your ada will approve of.”

“I suppose so,” I mutter gloomily.

Mam looks at me closely her dark eyes seeing beyond my present gloom and despondency.

“What is it that is at the heart of your present unhappiness Lambkin? Come tell me. I can see there is more to this whole thing than ye have let on.”

“It is just that … well … I hoped… thought that perhaps…oh what does it matter!” I burst out. “All I have achieved is to reinforce everyone’s opinions that I am indeed little more than a foolish child who is incapable of taking care of his own needs.”

“Here now,” Mam responds “no one here thinks such a thing of ye.”

“I think it.”

My tone is bitter for that is indeed at the heart of this matter. For I have chosen to live out in the mortal world and every day there is some reminder or another of the fact that because of my race I will remain eternally youthful, burdened with all the uncertainties and tendency to make stupid mistakes that is the lot of youth while others move on and mature.

Today I have managed to frighten and anger Gimli, upset poor Greirr by putting him in a situation where he had to break his word and distress Mam and the rest of my family and all with the best of intentions. My youth it seems to me to be a curse rather than anything else.

Mam reads me as easily as her son does. She gives me a smile.

“Ye can no more change your age than I can grow pointy ears, Lambkin and ye forget for all you dislike your youth ye are a famed warrior, ye run your own demesne, ye consort with King’s and sit on the councils of the wise. That does not sound to me like someone who is seen as a foolish child.”

“But I still make stupid choices.”

“Aye and ye will likely make more, no matter how old ye become. We all make mistakes, Lad. Age does not necessarily confer wisdom either. Look at that pair of fools Dorin and Floin living in squalor as they do. I have just been down there and given them the sharp edge of my tongue. I told them I will be back on the morrow and they had better have cleaned that place up by then.”

Mam’s militancy makes me smile. I would have enjoyed seeing her giving them the benefit of her views on their life style and so I tell her.

She laughs and kisses my cheek.

“Come now that is better. Let your unhappiness go sweeting. Ye had good intentions, the best of intentions indeed, aye and a great love for my lad and that counts more in my eyes than anything and the depth of that love and commitment has nothing to do with age or lack of it. It comes from a good heart and that is something that no amount of maturity can change. Learn from your choices today and then move on. That is all any of us can do.”

She gives an admonishing tug on my braid and as she does so I realize that there might be a way of marking my respect and commitment to Gimli after all.

I sleep well perhaps unsurprisingly after all of the emotional turmoil of the last day, but despite this I wake feeling out of sorts as Samwise would say. It is not that I am ill, for elves do not become ill, just not quite right is all. My arm itches, and curbing the desire to scratch is difficult but I put some of the salve the Elrondionnath make for me on it and it eases the discomfort considerably although I admit it still looks slightly swollen and red. But I do not wish to bring up a subject that seems to have been if not forgotten at least forgiven by mentioning it, so I remain silent for it will no doubt clear up soon enough I do not doubt.

Gimli welcomes me into the main room and asks whether I slept well. I am able to reply honestly yes, which makes the fact that I am still tired a little odd. However Gimli seems not to notice for he bids me sit down to eat all the while outlining his plans for my day.

“Good. I have more meetings over whether Erkenbrand and I ought to fund the building of one of the barges. But I also wanted to check on the water flow through the locks. But you and Greirr should be able to manage that between you. You have worked with me often enough to know what to do.”

Any other time I would be happy to be given such a responsible task but not now.

“Greirr?” I query.

“Aye, he knows how to handle the equipment and ye can get to places without difficulty that a dwarf could not reach tree squirrel that ye be. Do ye have a problem with that?”

I do but now is not the time to speak of it. Gimli has obviously decided that by pushing us together it will give us an opportunity to mend our friendship. I am not so certain.

Greirr seems uncertain as well. We spend much of the morning walking on eggshells, another of Sam’s favorite sayings, and it is not until I almost fall headfirst into an empty lock after slipping on a wet lock gate that the tension between us is broken. Greirr grabs my belt and hauls me upright and in between my telling him that there was not the least need for his interference and him telling me I would have nosedived into several inches of sludge had he not grabbed hold of me, we suddenly find ourselves laughing and it seems the most natural thing in the world to then offer my apologies for asking him to keep silent on something which he and I knew was very wrong.

“I did not wish to do it,” he tells me, “but when I caught a whiff of Dorin’s breath I knew that he was in no fit state to begin work on your tattoo.”

“I knew it too,” I admit, “but I was too stubborn not to say so. The room was filthy and their equipment likewise. When Thorûr told me of what could happen with unhygienic needles and conditions I realized I had, had a fortunate escape. I am sorry to have placed you in such an awkward position.”

“Not half as awkward as yours must have been when Uncle Gimli caught up with you” he replies with a grin.

A tussle, which ends with both of us lying on the ground laughing, ensues and I give silent thanks that our friendship has survived this latest spat. I leave him at the entrance to the caves for he has work to go to and I take our findings back to Gimli’s quarters where I intend to copy them out in a fair hand.

I find Mam seated by the fire, winding skein’s of wool and I am immediately called upon to offer my hands to hold the wool as Mam winds. So I sit cross-legged at her feet and pick up the first skein. I do not mind for this is a task I have often fulfilled for Chi when I am at home and seeing the different colors of wool reminds me of what I hope to achieve for Gimli.

I ask Mam for some small lengths of wool to practice with and explain to her what I am hoping to achieve.  
“I know now that I cannot have a tattoo but I have thought of a way I can honor Gimli. Each elven house has its own way of weaving their braids, and I thought if I could come up with a braid pattern that combined both elven and dwarvish knots and twists it would be something we could both wear with pride. Do you think Gimli would like that?” I ask a little anxiously.

Mam claps her hands “I think he would love it, as much for the thought behind it as for the symbolism it would portray. Ye want the wool to practice with I am guessing?”

I nod, “Yes, for I am hoping to achieve the effect of the dwarven eternity knot which will take some thinking about.”

“Aye that it will. Why not tie the strands to the back of the chair here then ye can try the designs out as often as ye like. Gimli is not likely to be back for some time yet, for he has some work to do in his workshop and said not to look for him until dinner.”

I frown at the wool in my hands, “Has it to do with the barges?”

Mam says she is not certain, but that it is something that has got her son all excited.

“He is worse than a child when he gets some idea or other and willna rest until he has put it down on paper or tried it out. Now ye go on with your plaiting and I will go and prepare for dinner.” She kisses my brow as she rises and then she puts a hand there as well. “Ye are a trifle hot Lambkin. Ye are not sickening for something are ye?”

“Nay,” I laugh, “elves do not get ill.”

Mam sniffs, and demands that I put out my tongue, although how she can tell by that simple expedient if I am well or not I do not know. She seems reassured by it however and goes on her way to the kitchen and I let my shoulders slump a little, for truth to tell I am beginning to wish I had not eaten quite as much of Mam’s excellent fruit bread as I did for my stomach is roiling and my vision is blurring to such an extent that I am having difficulty concentrating on the wool strands.

I decide that it might be wise to go outside and get some fresh air. I call through to Mam that I will not be long, and once again I make my way up to the Deeping Wall. I do begin to feel a little better with the sun on my face and a light breeze lifting my hair from my neck. I am still very hot however, and my arm is now throbbing. I roll up my shirt sleeve and see that the redness has spread from my forearm all the way up to my shoulder. My whole arm is swollen but the worse of whatever it is that is causing my discomfort seems to be centered about the inside of my right forearm and as I peer at it I see a tiny red line, like a scratch mark. I cannot think for a moment where it might have come from. But then I remember Floin waving that filthy needle about as he spoke with his brother and then the pandemonium as Gimli hammered on the door demanding admittance and the ink was spilt. I recall now the slight drag of a point across my skin, hardly more than a pinprick and of course when Thorûr examined my arm he looked only at the area where the ink had been spilt not underneath for why would he? That was not where the tattoo was to be drawn out.

Thorûr’s words of warning over the dangers all come back to me. Have I somehow been infected or poisoned and if so what should I do about it? Well the obvious answer to that is to speak to Gimli or Mam or even Thorûr himself and seek their help but of course that would only lead to more unpleasantness and recriminations and I told you so’s which seem to accompany anything like this and I would sooner avoid that if I can. I have the salve that the twins gave me that eased the itching this morning. Surely if I apply some more it will stop the infection spreading and my own natural ability to combat illness will do the rest.

Deciding this is the best course of action I go back into the cave system and reapply the Imladris salve to my arm. I am relieved to find that it does seem to work its magic once again and the discomfort ebbs to a point where I can all but ignore it. I spend the rest of the day writing up mine and Greirr’s findings on our work of the morning and trying out different types of braid knots which I hope may turn out to be something like the eternity knot that Gimli used.

Our evening meal is a pleasant affair with Gimli in a very good mood, laughing jovially over Mam’s description of her meeting with Floin and Dorin.

“Well I wouldn’a want to be in their boots then. Ye will be going back to check they have carried out their orders?”

“Ye may rely on it. Such squalor is totally unacceptable. But enough of that, now tell me how did your meeting with Lord Erkenbrand go?”

As Gimli regales us with his spirited retelling of his bargaining with the men of the Deep he waves his hands about to make a point and accidentally catches my arm causing me to catch my breath.

Of course Gimli notices. “Lamb, what is wrong?”

I try to appear nonchalant, stretching out my arm and flexing it. The pain flares but by dint of sticking my finger nails into my right fist I prevent myself from reacting “just a touch of cramp” I manage

“Cramp? What a bag of moonshine!”

But despite this Gimli seems to be prepared to let things go. He turns back to Mam continuing their conversation and I do my best to swallow down on the nausea and get a grip on my senses. After a few moments I have overcome the worst of the pain offer a conciliatory smile and make a pretense at least of eating the rest of my dinner aware that both Mam and Gimli are likely to be watching me.

But as soon as the table is cleared and Mam has gone into the kitchen Gimli demands to know what is really amiss.

“Ye look peaky to me, lad. Is it to do with your quarrel with Greirr? I had hoped if ye spent the morning together ye would soon be friends again for he had your best interests at heart Lamb.”

I am tempted to accept this excuse but that would be unfair to Greirr and so I shake my head.

“No it is nothing to do with Greirr. We have made our peace and are friends again, and I also accept that my intention to get a tattoo was foolish beyond permission and I am glad it was put a stop to.”

“Well, then that is good, but ye do look a trifle tired. It is not the sea longing come back is it? Mam said earlier she thought ye were looking peaky.”  
“No indeed, it is nothing like that. I am well enough. Let me get you the report I wrote up on the inspection we did this morning, Greirr said that there was quite a bit more silt than he had expected,”

I hurry to my chamber and once again apply the ointment which takes off the worst of the pain so I am hopeful that I will be able to get through the rest of the evening without giving Gimli further cause for alarm for I feel badly enough over all the trouble I have given him so far during this visit.

Somehow I get through the rest of the evening, although it becomes more and more difficult to hide my growing discomfort and I am relieved when Mam suggests that perhaps it is time for me to get some sleep.

I hurry through my ablutions and am already in bed when Gimli comes in to wish me good night. He brushes a strand of hair from my brow and kisses me then tucks the covers about my shoulders.

“Sleep well Lamb.”

“I will do my best,” I reply and let my eyes become unfocused as if I am preparing to step onto the dream path. I keep my breathing even and regular and eventually Gimli, who has been standing looking down at me, moves away from the bed, blows out the lantern and closes the door behind him. I lie for some time trying not to keep as still as possible as any movement sends throbbing pains up my inflamed arm. If things have not improved in the morning I promise myself I will tell Gimli what is wrong.

Despite the throbbing ache in my arm I do eventually fall asleep but my dreams are anything but restful. Nightmarish visions of a healers tent I once had the misfortune to enter after the Battle of the Pelennor Fields where men were having limbs amputated it is a sight I will never be able to erase and tonight their moans and cries of agony invade my mind. I see again the bloody table in the center of the tent and hear someone begging for mercy. I step forward to do my best to offer solace and to my horror I realize that this time I am the poor soul on the table and someone is hanging over me holding a saw in their hand.

“No!” I scream, “not my arm. Not my arm.”


	7. Gimli's POV

Leaving my lad outside, for I can see he is not ready to leave the stars, I hurry back to my own chambers where Mam is anxiously awaiting our return. 

 

“He’ll be in directly,” I tell her, “All is well, or at least it will be in a day or two. He just needs a little time is all.”

 

Rather than staying to discuss things, I hurry to my office to draw a quick sketch, for I have an idea and I must get it down on paper before I forget it. While I was speaking to my lad outside I began thinking that just because he cannot have my design inked as a permanent skin mark, does not mean he can’t still wear it in another way. There is no reason the same thing could not be made in metal in the form of a pendant or a pin. 

 

Taking out some very fine tipped drafting pencils, I begin to draw a to scale version to see how s mall I can make it without changing the design too much. I find that if I use a magnifying glass and a very steady hand, I should be able to work it into a one-inch pendant without losing the details. Fortunately I possess both glass and stable hand so it should not be a problem. The top bit can be done using filigreed green and yellow gold and the bottom part using vitreous enamel inlaid with gemstones in the axe handle. 

 

I am so pleased with the idea, that I wonder why I didn’t think of it earlier and had it already made to present to Legolas at the time I showed him the tattoo to begin with. We might have avoided this whole debacle had I done so and saved him a great deal of grief. In my defense, I never thought that he would attempt such a thing, though perhaps I should have done. We have been friends for a long time now and this was very typical behavior for him. Still I remind myself that no real harm was done that cannot be fairly easily mended. 

 

I do not realize how long I have been hidden in my office until Mam enters and tells me my elfling still hasn’t returned. 

“Even if he doesn’t need the sleep, it is not good for him to isolate himself for too long,” she tells me. “No doubt he is still brooding over the day. Besides I will never be able to sleep myself until he comes in.”

I laugh at that, for I know how she feels, but when I rise to go after him she tells me she will go for he might be more willing to open up to her. Considering that he might still be a little wary of me, she may be right. It is only a short time before they return, and he does look calmer already and I am hopeful that everything will return to normal.

The next morning it seems as if my hopes were worthwhile. First meal is a cheerful one, and while Legolas is a little hesitant to spend the day with Greirr, he does not refuse. No doubt he is worried over how things will go with my nephew, but I am certain that they will have settled their differences by midmorning at the latest, for I know them both well and neither is likely to hold a grudge for long and both will wish to keep their friendship in tact if possible.

Besides having them take care of checking the water flow in the locks frees me up to work on the pendant. I have only a brief morning meeting with Erkenbrand and then I will have the rest of the day free. I am certain I can have the thing at least mostly finished by then.

The meeting goes well as does my metalworking. It is tedious and I feel like I might go blind by the end, but I am extremely happy with the result. I place the finished pendant into a pocket so I can take it home to find a bit of leather string to hang it on. That way it can be worn around the neck or tied into the hair and will hopefully be an agreeable way for my elfling to wear the symbol I designed to recognize him as a son. 

When I arrive home it is to find Mam taking up the last of the evening meal from the stovetop. She tells me that Legolas has gone outside for a little fresh air, so I carefully unwrap the pendant to show her before he comes back.

“It is exquisite!” she breathes, clapping her hands together. “He will certainly be pleased and hopefully it will perk him up. The lad looked a bit peaky earlier if ye ask me. Will you give it to him tonight?”

“Nay, not tonight,” I tell her. “I wish to string it first and to find a proper box for it.”

She does not answer, for we hear the outer door open, so I shove it back into my pocket and hurry to begin telling her about my meeting with Erkenbrand. At one point Legolas gasps when I accidentally brush against his arm, though he tells me it is only a cramp, which is moderately believable considering what he has been doing today, though I can never be sure. I watch him throughout the meal and though he is a little pale, he eats well enough.

Still I am so not convinced that I do not ask him what the matter is when Mam leaves the room for a moment. I am worried that he is still concerned over the matter with Greirr, but it seems that that has been cleared up. After that I wonder if it is a return of the sea longing, but he denies this as well, and I believe him, for his eyes do not carry that distant look that accompanies a bout of that. I decide that whatever the matter is might not be anything big enough to interrogate him over. Likely he could use a little space after the difficult day we had yesterday, so I let him go and retrieve the report from the locks. 

He seems to look a bit better when he returns with it, and we spend a productive hour or so discussing his and Greirr’s findings. After that Mam joins us in the main room. It is not long until Legolas appears to droop again, so Mam suggests that he would do well to get some sleep. Surprisingly he agrees right away and leaves to prepare for bed. That in itself is a worry, for normally we would be told that he is not the least bit tired, and that elves need very little rest. 

Mam and I exchange looks when he complies so readily.

“Something isn’a right,” I tell her, and she nods in agreement.

“He seems a little out of sorts, and he was a trifle warm earlier. But then younglings generally go through all sorts of ailments that turn out to be nothing to worry over. He will likely be right as rain in the morning.”

I nod, for most likely she is right and yet all sorts of alarms are going off in my mind. By the time I go to say a final goodnight, my lad is already in bed. I brush the hair out of his eyes and kiss him, noticing that his skin feels warmer than usual. I am still deciding if I should investigate the matter further when his eyes lose focus and his breathing becomes regular indicating he has already found his dream path. I decide to wait until morning to see if there is any improvement before worrying over it too much.

Making that decision and acting on it turns out to be two entirely different things. I find that sleep eludes me this night, so after tossing and turning for a couple of hours, I rise and dress and make my way out to the main room again. The fire has died down to glowing embers, so I stir it back to life and then sit down and light my pipe, hoping that will be enough to help me relax until morning. The smoke does not have the usual calming affect, so I start to pack the bowl a second time. Unfortunately my pipeweed pouch is now empty and I recall that I left my other one back at my workshop off the forges where I was working earlier today. Mam smokes a pipe on special occasions, however, and I know she keeps a small tin of especially fine tobacco somewhere in the kitchen, so I rummage through kitchen drawers and cabinets looking for it. My search is rewarded when I find it in a small drawer next to the onion bin. I pack my pipe and return it and then go back to my chair by the fire to smoke. 

Even though I was attempting to be silent, my rummaging must have awakened Lady Vonild, for she appears in the doorway in a long red velvet dressing gown, her long black hair streaked with white unbraided and falling to her knees. I reflect that I cannot remember the last time I have seen her with her hair down.

“It is three hours gone midnight,” she tells me, looking concerned. “Is anything amiss?”

“Not a thing ye need to worry over, Mam,” I say, “go on back to bed.”

She snorts and comes to sit beside me in front of the fire.

“Pull the other one, lad. I am not so gullible as ye seem to think. Ye are fully dressed and smoking like a chimney in the middle of the night and I am to believe that there is nothing on your mind? Have we only just met the two of us?”

I laugh at her homey turn of phrase and she smiles as well, but she does not let the matter drop.

“Ye are worried over Legolas.”

It is not a question, but I answer it anyway.

“Aye, a bit.”

“Perhaps more than a bit?”

I take a puff on the pipe and look up into her concerned eyes. Is there anyone who can fool my observant mother, or anyone who can keep their troubles to themselves when she gently, or not so gently probes for answers? If so, I have not met them. Like Dorin and Floin and even Master Megan, I know when I am in the presence of a superior being. In this case I do not even try.

I begin to nod slowly.

“It’s not that he was a little our of sorts,” I explain, “that has happened often enough without any cause that I can figure out and is often gone in a few hours, or even a few minutes. That is common among all adolescents no matter their race. But I keep remembering that he was unnaturally warm when I came in to wish him goodnight. An unexplained fever may be usual in mortal younglings, but I think it is extremely rare among elves. Of course I have not met any other elflings, since there are no others this side of the sea, but in all the years I have known him he has never had a fever that did not have an explainable cause: a poisoned arrow, or one time even the claws of a fell beast. Or a hidden injury that had gone septic. But how? He has been with either Greirr or you all day…” 

Here I look toward his bedchamber door.

“I do not wish to disturb him, for he was sleeping soundly when I left, but…”

Rather than clucking and teasing over my worries and assuring me that all is well, my mother adds fuel to my concerns, by insisting that I must not wait until morning.

“In these kinds of cases it is best to follow your gut feeling,” she insists. “There is a reason ye are ill at ease and it would be foolish to ignore that. He may not be your natural child, but your instincts about him are just as strong as if he were. Never be afraid to follow that insistent voice when it comes.”

I sit back to quickly finish my pipe first, but she snatches it out of my hand.

“Ye smoke far too much as it is,” she complains, sniffing at the pipe and then offering me a suspicious frown. No doubt she recognizes the smell of her own pipe weed, but she says nothing other than, “go on with ye. See to your lad.”

I rise to do just that and I have not even made it to his bedchamber door when I see she is already smoking my pipe. I leave the door open so that I can see by the light of the fire in the main room, for I hope to check on him without waking him up if possible. But when I lay a gentle hand on his brow, I am shocked at how hot his skin is and I know there is no way this is not a serious situation. I hurry to light the lamp so I can find the source of this. It has to be some sort of toxin or injury and I can’t imagine where he would have come into contact with a toxin. Poisoned arrows are no longer much of a threat and he has been eating just what the rest of us have, so it has to be the latter. But how could he have gotten injured when he has not been out of our sight for more than a few minutes at a time since his arrival? Perhaps after our talk on the Deeping Wall? It seems unlikely.

I become even more concerned when I cannot awaken him by calling his name and patting his cheek. He only groans and turns his head from side to side, but his eyes do not open at all. Other than being rosy cheeked with fever, I can see nothing visibly wrong anywhere that is exposed, even when I pull back the covers to have a look at his legs. Still there has to be something. I rapidly unbutton his long sleep shirt and pull it off one shoulder causing him to cry out as if in agony when the soft fabric rubs against his skin. Once the shirt has been pulled away I can clearly see the reason why: his entire left arm is bright red and swollen to nearly three times its normal size! Inflamed fingers of infection reach out toward his hand and all the way up to his shoulder. 

I do not know I have made a sound, but I must have gasped, for Mam is suddenly in the doorway asking what the matter is and then gasping herself when she sees it.

“Mahal have mercy!” she exclaims. “What could have happened to cause this?

“I do not know, Mam, but this is beyond what either of us can tend on our own. Will you call Mistress Lilja?”

For the first time in my memory, my mother leaves our personal chambers with her hair unbound and in her dressing gown, stopping only long enough to don a pair of shoes she has left by the door. When my elfling begins to shiver uncontrollably, I pull the covers that I have removed back up over his right shoulder, being extremely careful not to touch or disturb the left one. There is no open wound that I can see, and I do not want to move the arm to look for one for it hurts me just to look at it. I cannot bear to cause him that much pain.

Mam returns within just a few minutes having met a guard in the corridor who she sent to find our healer. Mistress Lilja has been with us since we first settled here. She decided to leave Erebor for the opportunity to come to the White City with those of us who worked on the gates there. She came along as a healer for our company of dwarves, but her real interest was in working with other races. She had learned all there was to know about dwarven anatomy, she had claimed, so she wished to move on. She did have a couple of opportunities to examine and treat some of the men working with us and others who were injured in small conflicts that were still happening just after the ring war. She had never gotten to see any elven patients for other than Legolas there were no other elves there at that time. Except of course for Gondor’s queen, and even she is only half elven and her own husband was a healer himself. Still Lilja cherished the experience, for she got to do some things she had never done before in treating those humans, and she even had some time to speak with Elrond’s sons, who are healers in their own rite, about elven medicine. 

It is a matter of minutes before Mistress Lilja arrives with her knee length tunic buttoned crooked and her long messy dreadlocks pulled back in a loose tail. Of course she has seen Legolas a time or two before, but only over cracked ribs or scrapes and bruises, so her eyes sparkle with delight when we tell her she has been called to see him. But she grows deadly somber when she actually catches sight of him, making my heart nearly stop. The only time I have seen her look so grave is when she realizes a case is very, very grim. Other times she remains cheerful if rather morbidly odd with her scientific interest in injuries and illness. She confirms my fears with her first words.

“This is very serious,” she informs us, “There is clearly a severe infection. Have you any idea of the cause?”

“He had a mild reaction to some fouled tattoo ink that got on his outer skin,” I tell her. “but it mostly went away right after he washed it off.”

“Some must have gotten under the skin somehow,” she says, placing a hand on his brow, “ but before I examine it I will give him something to put him in a deeper sleep to spare him the pain. I dare not give him too much since I have no way of guessing his weight or how it will effect his kind.”

She places a large but soothing hand on his cheek as she softly hushes his moaning. She opens a paper of black powder and empties half the contents into a spoon and holds it to his lips.

“This will not taste nice, but it will make you feel better,” she explains in case he can somehow hear her. She forces the powder between his lips and holds his face still as he gags and chokes, speaking soothingly all the while.

“Do not fight it, child. Swallow it like a good lad and I will give you something to get rid of the foul taste very soon. That’s it. Well done,” she hurries to drop a little sweetened water into his mouth from a small syringe, and then waits until he has settled down to do anything further. When it appears that he is deeper asleep, she gingerly takes his arm and turns it, looking very closely as she does so.

In spite of the pain medication, he gasps and attempts to pull away, but she holds on tightly and continues to examine it.

“Here,” she finally says. “There is a small scratch on the inside of his arm. The ink must have entered from there.”

I look, and indeed there is a small area that is even more inflamed than the rest of his arm.”

“He never mentioned being scratched,” I object, “and his arm looked fine after he soaked the ink off.”  
“He may not have even been aware of it at first,” she tells me. “The scratch is very small, though it was big enough to cause plenty of trouble, obviously. The entire arm is infected and his fever is extremely high. Fever is nature’s way of burning off an infection, so we will wait to attempt to lower it. For now I will make a poultice and see if we can’t draw some of the infection out.”

She suits actions to words, leaving me with my lad while she goes into the kitchen to mix together butterbur and cloves to help the pain, and mustard and comfrey to draw out the infection. After that she dips a flannel cloth in both concoctions and then heats it as hot as she can make it without causing a burn. She then wraps the cloth as carefully as possible around the inflamed arm, while I hold his other hand. Even so Legolas nearly comes off the bed when she touches it making me feel nauseated with sympathy for his pain. All the while, Lilja is muttering under her breath about how the practice of tattooing should be banned altogether, or at least only be done by a trained expert who has the approval of a healer.

“ I have seen this far too many times in my day,” she says, sitting next to me. “Fouled ink is very bad news, even for an adult dwarf, let alone an elven child with silky smooth skin and rapid healing to seal in the nasty stuff. Why ever was he even near it in the first place?”

When I do not feel the desire or need to explain our business to her, she does not press the issue, but explains what we should expect. 

“I will need to change the poultice frequently over the next several hours, and watch to see if the infection spreads. The main concern is that it will go beyond his arm and move into vital organs. If that begins to happen we will need to…” She looks over at Legolas as if wondering if he can actually hear her. Evidently deciding that he may be able to she finishes… “take action.”

I do not ask what action she means to take should things grow worse, but I do not need to, for her words bring memories of the war to the fore-a healers tent at Pelennor where screams of agony could be heard as gangrenous limbs were removed. For a few moments the room seems to swim and it as if I can smell the stink of rotting flesh. I can hear my own heart throbbing in my head, but then I take a deep breath and shake my head to rid myself of the image. If I am to get through this I must not let such thoughts come again. 

It is then that I realize the morning has come, for I can hear Dorbryn, Thorûr, and Greirr quietly talking to Mam in the other room. I do not go to greet them though, for I am not inclined to leave my lad alone, no matter what happens. The next several hours go by in a bit of a haze. Legolas is one minute shivering uncontrollably and the next fighting to kick the covers off, while I do what I can to calm him and make him comfortable. My family takes turns coming in and trying to convince me to let them sit with him for a while until it becomes clear that I am not going anywhere. It’s not as if I could sleep anyway, the idea is outrageous! 

After that they never mention me leaving, but they do bring tea that I let get cold and food that I do not eat. Mistress Lilja stays with us, steeping herbs that she soaks her flannels in and making teas that she attempts to spoon into the lad’s mouth. At one point she takes the time to slip thick flannel under and over his hips and she must understand my confusion for she explains that it will not do for him to flood himself and become more chilled, and I can only hope he will not remember any of this when he does regain consciousness. She continues to change the poultices and while the infection does not seem to be spreading, it also does not seem to be improving. Finally late in the afternoon she announces that she will lance the wound.

I cringe at the idea, for he is already in tremendous pain, and I cannot stand the thought of making it worse, but when she shows me several large lumps just inside his arm, I see it must be done if there is to be any chance of saving his arm. She quickly prepares her equipment, which is really just a heated scalpel and some gauze. She tells me I will need to hold him still, which I do by dint of placing a hand in the middle of his chest. She tightly grasps the affected arm and comes within a hair’s breadth of slicing him open when he struggles violently.

“He is stronger than he looks,” she observes. “We may need more help to hold him for it is imperative that he remain still else I might slice an artery.”

She steps out long enough to ask Thorûr and Greirr to help us and we begin the procedure again. This time I sit behind my elfling and pull him back against my chest, wrapping my arms tightly around his chest and pinning his good arm to his side. Greirr, looking terrified, holds his legs while Thorûr holds the swollen arm so that Mistress Lilja can do her work. Even so it is not easy keeping him immobilized completely. He attempts to thrash about, his head shaking from side to side until I bring a hand up to his forehead and put a stop to that as well. After that he can only cry out, and surprisingly his words are comprehensible. 

“No. Not my arm! Not my arm!”

I feel my own eyes fill at his terror and pain, but Lilja must have nerves of steal, for she deftly fits her scalpel into one of the lumps at a ninety degree angle, going over an inch deep before pus begins to drain. She swiftly lances three more places and then goes back and opens the first wound before it can close on its own. She repeats the process on all the cuts several times until she seems satisfied that everything has been drained away. Only then does she pack the wound with herbs and replace the poultice with a freshly heated one. 

I am shaking like a leaf by the time the process ends and when I look at Thorûr he has gone as pale as I have ever seen him, while Greirr has tears standing in his eyes. Legolas’ shriek of agony has changed to soft whimpering and he is white as milk and trembling. But Lilja seems very pleased with the outcome.

“He is more comfortable already, poor lad,” she declares. “If we see some improvement in the next few hours we will be able to begin trying to lower his fever.”

It is evening when she declares he is improving enough that the fever can be safely reduced and so she makes a tea just for that purpose, which she skillfully coaxes down him a half a spoonful at a time. After that she removes the poultice and wraps his arm in a regular bandage. To my eternal relief I can see that the swelling has gone down tremendously and it is no longer glowing red, though it still must be terribly painful. She then instructs me to bathe his face and hands in cool water to help with the process.

I spend the rest of the night doing this, though I am spelled by times by Mam and the rest of my family. Lilja packs her things and finally heads home telling us to call her if things take an unexpected turn for the worse. Otherwise she will check back with us later in the day. I cannot even find the words to thank her for her services, but I do not have to. She is inordinately happy with herself for having met this challenge with such great success. It will be something to write about in that journal she is always keeping of her unusual experiences as a healer.

It is nearly morning again before my lad finally breaks into a heavy sweat and I know the worst has passed. His fever has broken. I towel him dry, and then finally pull him into my arms and lie down next to him, too exhausted and relieved to do anything else. I must doze for a short while, for I awaken when he begins to stir. I brush long strands of golden hair from his face as his eyes begin to flutter open.

“Gimli?” he croaks, his voice gruff from disuse. I hurry to bring a cup of cold water to his lips. He obediently swallows it down and then tries again.

“Is it morning yet, Elvellon?”

“It is, lad, but there is no need for ye to get up just yet. Why don’t ye just go back to sleep for now?”

“I…I need to tell you something,” he begins, sounding rather apprehensive.   
“Ye can tell me anything, child, ye know that.” I assure him.  
“I think… that is…” he takes a deep breath and then rushes into speech. “Gimli there might be something wrong with my arm. I would have told you earlier, but I thought it would go away on its own. But I swore to myself I would tell you when morning came if it hadn’t improved on its own.”  
MIGHT be something wrong indeed!

I find that I have to restrain myself from hysterical laughter over this admission after all we have been through over the last two days, but I control myself and only ask lightly, “And has it not improved?”

“To be perfectly honest, it feels a little worse than it did yesterday,” he says, becoming suddenly very wide eyed as he looks up at me and admits, “It may even need some sort of treatment. Please don’t be angry with me.”

But he has nothing to worry over, for I have no energy left to be angry.

“Well next time ye might think to mention such a thing a tad earlier, but there is no need to worry over it now for I am not angry. Ye may just relax and let me handle everything and all will be well very soon. That I promise ye. Close your eyes again, lamb.” I brush a hand over his eyes.

That seems to be good enough, for he smiles in relief and immediately goes back to sleep, this time hopefully with pleasant dreams.


	8. Legolas' pov

My dreams have been dark indeed, full of pain and distress, of anxious voices and hurried conversations. Yet when I wake all is calm and I find that Gimli is lying beside me. What is more rather than being angry when I admit to thinking I might need the services of a healer, he is almost amused and assures me that all will soon be well.

Then he abjures me to sleep again and I find myself so relieved that whatever is amiss with my arm will now be addressed that I do slip back into sleep and this time there are no night terrors. I seem to sleep deeply and long, for although we are some way underground here in the caves my sense tell me the day is drawing to a close. I cannot understand how I can have slept so long but obviously I must have needed the rest for I feel much refreshed, and the pain in my arm is so much diminished that I can move it without too much discomfort. At least not in my arm but my bladder is signaling that it is in need of being emptied.

There is the soft repetitive sound of bone needles clicking together and I frown trying to place the noise then it comes back in a rush. Someone is knitting, I turn my head and see Mam seated beside my bed.

“Ye are awake, bless ye, here” Mam offers me a drink of cool water lifting my head so that I may swallow more easily “are ye feeling any better now Lambkin?”  
“Much” I croak, “I must have slept the whole day away”

Mam laughs at that “Aye that ye could say that ye have. Now keep ye still. I told Gimli I would wake him when ye stirred.”

I frown at that. Why would Gimli be asleep at this time? Is he unwell? But before I can frame a suitable question Mam has reached the door and is calling to someone beyond it to wake her son. She looks back at me and sees something apparently in my face for she steps away and lets Greirr enter having spoken softly to him before she does so.

Greirr, comes in giving me a smile.

“Amma said ye may need my help.”

He tips his head towards the bathing chamber door and I am grateful for Mam’s thoughtfulness. I would sooner have the help of Greirr or Gimli than Lady Vonild even though I am sure that she has done just as intimate services for me while I have been sleeping. Perhaps it is better not to think of that. I allow Greirr to help me to stand and to give me the strength of his arm as he steers me across the room. Having seen me into the bathing chamber, Greirr steps outside to give me a modicum of privacy. When I finish attending to my needs I take a moment or two to look at my infected arm. I am happy to see that the inflammation is much reduced although there are three clear areas that have more redness than the others. I inspect them more closely for I have seen this sort of injury before, indeed I have suffered from something similar when poison has had to be drained. 

I have been far more ill than I realized. Perhaps my dreams were closer to reality than I first thought. I am glad of Greirr’s arm and grateful to sink back down onto my bed, for I am very tired and weak.

“I cannot believe that after a day of rest I am so soon exhausted,” I tell Greirr.

“Make that almost three days,” he chuckles. “It is not surprising that ye are as weak as a kitten. Here let me lift your legs into the bed. Uncle Gimli will not be happy to think ye are already trying to escape.”

“That he will not be!” a welcome growl comes from the main room, “what are ye thinking getting up so soon?”

I give him a look and he laughs, “Aye very well, I will let ye off this time but ye are not to be thinking ye will be leaving that bed any time soon.” Then he claps his hands together and adds, “eh, but it is good to see ye awake and looking more like yourself. Mistress Lilja will be happy to see how well ye are recovering.”

My nose wrinkles automatically, for Mistress Lilja and I do not get on. She may be an excellent healer but she is far too bossy and wants to know far too much about elven physiognomy for my comfort.

“It was Lilja who ensured that ye kept your arm Lamb for I will not hide it from ye that it was touch and go for a while. The poison had spread so swiftly.”

I feel the blood rush from my head, leaving me dizzy. I may have feared it but to hear it spoken out loud makes me shiver.

“It was so bad?”

“Aye, I am afraid it was Lamb,” Gimli pats my hand. “But by Lilja’s skill and your own healing abilities all is well.”

“And I do not doubt your own care,” I tell him, turning my hand under his and squeezing it.

“We all played our part” he acknowledges my answer with another pat on the hand, “even Magen sat with ye through one of the nights.”

My mouth drops open, “Master Magen came here”

“He was worried for ye lad, and angry that something that he takes pride in might be the cause of you losing your arm or worse. For all he is a stubborn old cuss and doesn’a like change he has come to recognize ye as a member of my kin and he will always do what he can for family. I will tell ye as well that in the morning after he had sat with ye when ye were at your worst, he went to pay a call on Floin and Dorin”

Greirr grins at me, “You could hear the cursing from the other end of the cave system.”

“Aye well enough of that nephew, “ Gimli silences Greirr with a frown. “Whatever was said on that occasion I do not know. I will only add that the pair of them have handed over all of their tattooing equipment to be destroyed and made a promise that they will not carry out any inking without first speaking to either Magen or Thorûr and getting their approval, so maybe some good has come from this.”

“I am sorry to have caused so much trouble for so many folk.”

Gimli gives me a warm but sympathetic smile, “Ye did not mean it to do so Lamb. In fact the exact opposite. All ye wanted to do was honor me, and how can I be angry when ye meant so well? I am just grateful ye are on the road to recovery.” 

“As am I,” I whisper tears very close to falling as I come to understand how close to disaster I have come. Greirr excuses himself for which I am grateful and with his departure I hold out my hand to my beloved dwarf. He comes to embrace me and to kiss my brow and all is well with my world once more.

For two further frustrating days I am kept in bed, and no amount of pleading or explaining makes any difference to my anxious dwarven kin who are determined to see me fully recovered before I step beyond the door of my bed chamber. I find it wearisome but understandable and to be fair I am so much in their debt that to argue or complain seems very wrong even to me and everyone does their best to keep me occupied and contented during my convalescence. Greirr plays endless games of Battle, Master Magen comes to spend time with me as well and tells me much to my surprise that he has asked Dorin to show him some of his less traditional ink designs which he is thinking of adding to his repertoire. Mam and Dorbryn bring their knitting and sewing and we work together on designing the eternity knot that I am trying to create for mine and Gimli’s braids, while Thorûr makes some silver braid ends to finish off the whole thing. I am looking forward to being able to present the idea to Gimli for I have been promised that I will be allowed to eat with the family for the first time tonight for many, many days. 

Before then I have to rest and allow Mistress Lilja to give me one last examination. When she gives me permission to end my confinement I hurry to bathe and dress, happy that only the faintest of shades of pink on my arm show where the infection has been.

There is quite a festive atmosphere in the main room. The table is groaning under the weight of a dinner which Mam and Dorbryn have worked on all day and there is wine and black beer all set out to toast for my return to good health. Thorûr, Greirr and Magen are helping carry food and laughing at something Mam has just said to them so do not see me slip by them and knock on Gimli’s door.

“Come in Lamb.”

How Gimli knows it is me I do not know, but I go in to see Gimli is still brushing out his hair and beard, as I hoped would be the case. I ask to be given the honor of doing it for him, and he agrees smiling at me through the burnished copper mirror.

“Ye are looking well.”

“I am all but fully recovered thanks to all the care I have received” I answer, taking a piece of Gimli’s hair and beginning to plait it. Gimli watches me

“Here now is this different,” he eventually says noticing the knots I am adding.

“It is,” I answer feeling suddenly shy. “Since my foray into tattooing ended so disastrously I have come up with something that might in some small measure allow me to show my respect and love for you. It is a copy of your eternity knot and I thought perhaps, if you did not object we could wear to mark our special relationship. You do not mind?” I falter as Gimli examines the knot I have added to his beard braids.

“Mind” he embraces me heartily, “why is a perfect compromise Lamb, and very clever too. I wondered what all those abandoned bits of wool were for and now I know. Ye will have to teach me how they are tied.”

He admires the effect in the mirror.

“Why I think it may well start a new custom for families to mark their relationships from now on, for it is something that both males and females can do. Come let us go and show Mam and the others what ye have achieved, aye and more importantly” he adds, smiling mistily, “how well ye have recovered.”  
Together we go to where the rest of my dwarven family are assembled and our new braid knots are duly admired then we gather together with tankards of ale for Mam to thank Mahal for my recovery. Listening to her sing the traditional song of thanksgiving gives me a full understanding of how much a part of their family I have become over the years. It is a comforting thought but also makes me sad that I have no way of honoring Gimli as a son of Aulë would by wearing a family emblem next to my heart.

Almost as if he can read my thoughts Gimli calls for silence and then takes a small but exquisitely carved box from his pocket, he slides it across the table.

“For ye Lamb.”

I open it and gasp in amazement. There nestling in the velvet lining is a pendant, made of filigreed green and yellow gold and vitreous enamel inlaid with gemstones. It is an exquisite piece of jewelry and more importantly it is a perfect replica of the tattoo Gimli wears.

With shaking fingers I put the leather thong over my head and find that it hangs just above my heart. I do not know what to say but Gimli does not seem to think any words of mine are necessary for he pulls down my head and kisses my brow and as I grasp the pendant and blink away my tears a great feeling of contentment and love steels over me for I now carry the proof that I am indeed Gimli’s heart son and even when I am far away from him I will always know that his love is close and will never die.


End file.
